


E is for Equilibrium

by whumpertrooper



Series: A to Z Charlie whump [5]
Category: The Doctor Blake Mysteries
Genre: Charlie Whump, Flashbacks, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, War, lucien whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-03-08 16:31:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18898420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whumpertrooper/pseuds/whumpertrooper
Summary: Sometimes, making a misstep might save your life. Part of the A to Z Charlie Whump challenge. This time with an added Blake whump.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a bit longer than the previous ones and it was slow coming, but finally I finished. Total of three chapters awaits you. It deals with a few sensitive subject matters, so please head the warnings if you need to. Hope you enjoy. Thanks to everyone who reviewed my previous fics, I really appreciate it 3
> 
> TW: mentions of possible disability, ptsd, war

 

 

There was a body on the floor of the living room. Charlie could see that through the window if he put his face against it. Under different circumstances, he would have been calling an ambulance and breaking down the door right away. But the person on the floor was clearly dead. Charlie couldn't see any signs of movement. Crimson covered the head of the man but what was the most telling were the wide open, unblinking eyes.

With a sigh, Charlie turned towards the junior constable that accompanied him.

"Stay here and keep the neighbours away. Doctor Blake should be here shortly. I'll check the back to see if there's any way to get inside the house without breaking the door."

Kevin nodded and positioned himself on the front porch, trying to look threatening, even though he looked more like a kid playing dress up. He was fresh out of the academy and Charlie made a note to keep the kid out of the house, or at least as far away from the dead body as possible. He really didn't fancy the idea of Kevin puking all over a possible crime scene.

Charlie made a quick sweep around the small house, noting that none of the windows were open or broken. The back door was locked as well so Charlie returned to the front. He looked around, wondering if maybe one of the neighbours might have a key to the house, but quickly waved off the idea. The nearest neighbour was several hundred meters away and they weren't exactly coming to check on the commotion. If anything, Charlie could've sworn he saw a mother call in her children the minute their car parked in front of Marty Hanson's house.

"Looks like we'll have to do this the old fashioned way," Charlie muttered and kicked the door. It made a creaky sound, but the door was more sturdy than it looked. Charlie frowned and gave it a few more kicks until finally the wood gave up.

Charlie entered the house, his gun drawn. Despite assuming the house was empty, he called out.

"Police! If anyone's here, come out!"

There was no noise and no movement. Of course there wasn't. What hit him in the nose though was the dusty smell of an unkempt house and that rank and pungent smell mixed with a tinge of sickening sweetness of a rotting body. Charlie grimaced and heard Kevin behind him make a gagging sound.

"Go outside if you gonna puke," Charlie warned, while doing a quick sweep of the ground floor. Everything seemed normal. No sign of a break in... no real sign of a struggle. Except for the living room of course, which had Marty Hanson lying next to a table, head split open like a watermelon.

Charlie squatted down next to the body, putting his gun away. His face scrunched up at the strong smell of blood and what he assumed was a body in decay. Kevin uttered a curse and Charlie heard his retreating footsteps. He didn't even roll his eyes, thinking that he might've reacted similarly to his first dead body. Maybe he should send Kevin to the morgue later in the day, to get the autopsy report. He was sure one frown from Alice would fix Kevin's queasy stomach and harden the kid a bit.

Charlie pushed away his wayward thoughts and focused on the body and the room itself. He was taking in the dust on the furniture, the greasy empty plate that lay broken on the floor just a few feet from the body. No furniture was overturned and the mess in the room looked somehow... organic. On par with how the hallway and the other rooms on the ground floor looked.

"What do we have here, Charlie?" Lucien Blake stepped into the room, barely even acknowledging the smell. He was quite used to death by now and Charlie didn't know if he should be jealous of that or not.

"Hey, Doc. You got here quickly," Charlie said and stood up, giving Blake a friendly smile. He spotted Kevin standing by the door, still a bit green around the edges.

"Why don't you wait outside for the van?"

Kevin gave a thankful nod and left. Charlie noted the amused look on Blake's face and rolled his eyes.

"I don't want him to make a mess in here," he explained, rather unnecessarily. Blake looked around.

"I think it would hardly matter," he noted, then the smile left his face as he leaned down and started checking out the body. "So... what happened?"

"We got a call from the postman. He was here about an hour ago delivering a package for Marty. He knocked on the door several times but got no response, so he looked in through the window. It took him about twenty minutes to get over the shock and find a phone," Charlie explained and watched as Blake carefully touched the body, checking the head wound, then the temperature.

"The head wound is nasty... but I'm not sure that's what killed him," Blake noted, deep in thought. Charlie frowned.

"What do you mean?"

"Any signs of forced entry?" Blake asked instead. Charlie shook his head.

"No. Everything looks fine down here. I still need to check upstairs though. Why do you think it wasn't the head wound?"

"I'm not sure yet, Charlie. There's nothing here he could topple over and the body is in a position that suggests he collapsed on the spot, instead of tripping. See his hands? No sign that he put them out to brace himself from the fall. He was most likely unconscious when he fell and hit his head."

"But his eyes are open," Charlie pointed out.

"He might've regained consciousness shortly... or it might've just been a muscle spasm."

Charlie looked doubtful, but it wasn't like he had any real medical knowledge so he let it go.

"Do you have any idea about the time of death?"

"Based on the smell and the fact rigor mortis has passed, I'd say more than 24 hours ago."

Charlie nodded, making a note in his notepad.

"I'll go and check the rest of the house. You'll be okay in here?"

"Of course, Charlie," Blake said, already focused back on the body. Charlie walked upstairs and gave it a quick check, noting the lack of mess there. Especially the main bedroom looked like it wasn't lived in for quite a while. But except for a thick layer of dust... the room seemed clean. No dirty clothes on the floor or empty dishes, not even an old newspaper. A photograph of a happy couple above the bed let Charlie know the reason. This was most probably a shrine to Hanson's wife... whether she left him or died Charlie didn't know.

After making sure there was no one hiding upstairs and no signs of entry either, Charlie headed downstairs. He was about to check in with Blake again when he heard a car pull up, followed by another one. He peered out of the door, seeing the van that would take the body parking on the front lawn. Hobart with Simmons stepped out of the second car and Charlie nodded at them. He gave them a quick rundown of the situation and Bill in turn let him know the postman was already at the police station giving his statement.

After a short discussion, it was decided that Hobart would stay at the house and Charlie with Kevin would go and talk with the neighbours. Probably the best idea seeing as Hobart suffered from a distinct lack of human skills. It took them over half an hour to talk with two of the neighbours. The third one who lived farthest from the house didn't seem to be home. Charlie and Kevin returned to the house just as two orderlies were carrying out the gurney with the dead body, Blake not far behind.

"Anything new, Doc?" Charlie asked, watching the black body bag with mixed feelings. It seemed like no one really knew Marty Hanson. The guy spent many years away in the war while his wife raised his two sons alone in this house. While the neighbours said he was an odd egg, they loved his wife and were sad when the woman had died of a lung disease. Her sons were adults by then and settling down with their own families. Hanson didn't take his wife's death well it seemed. He barely ever left the house afterwards, opting for a biweekly grocery run and nothing else. He could've been dead for several months for all the neighbours interacted with him.

"I'm more and more inclined to the theory that he suffered from some malady and the fall was just the consequence of that," Blake spoke and Charlie nodded. It was the best case scenario.

"It's almost a year since his wife's death. That might've helped it."

Blake grimaced, knowing all too well how hard loss of a loved one could get on people.

"Did you learn anything useful from the neighbours?"

"They didn't see any strangers around and Hanson wasn't the most social person. I think we'll have to wait for the autopsy right now. Did Bill find anything interesting?" Charlie asked with a half grin as he saw Hobart leaning over the car radio. Kevin was trying to keep away from the body and was pretending to check the windows and the door for any signs of an entry. Charlie couldn't see the other constable, but he would just bet Hobart sent him off to canvas the dilapidated garden and shed behind the house that Charlie saw from an upstairs window.

"Bill found an interest in several photo albums and a bunch of newspaper clippings. Hanson seemed to collect photos and articles about his war buddies." Blake gave Charlie a pointed look and Charlie barely contained a sigh. That meant that Bill was probably checking up on Hanson and his records. Maybe even being suspicious about the possibility of espionage. At least Munro wasn't in play anymore. Charlie was happy that Lawson took over. Whatever crazy idea Hobart gets in his head, Lawson will put him straight.

"I'll go talk to him. You all done here, Doc?"

"Yes. I'll be at the morgue, helping Alice with the autopsy then I'll stop by at the station. Jean is making her famous meatloaf, so you better make sure you get home in time for dinner," Blake said with a smile and gave Charlie a pat on the shoulder.

"Oh, I'll definitely be there," he said with a smile of his own. Just the mention of Jean's cooking was enough to put more energy into his steps. He stopped next to Hobart who had just finished speaking with Lawson on the radio and looked as grumpy as ever.

"Any info from the neighbours?" Hobart asked and Charlie told him what he learned, which wasn't much. Hobart listened, clearly not happy about the lack of evidence or suspicious behaviour. Charlie knew he would've been much happier if they had something to go on, like for example a middle of the night visit witnessed by one of the neighbours. But there was nothing and frankly everything, along with Blake's comments, was pointing at the fact this was a natural or accidental death, without anyone else's involvement. Charlie would've wondered why Bill wasn't happy about that, but he knew the last few weeks were rather dull, especially for Ballarat. Hobart and some other people were getting just a bit bored, lacking the hunt and the mystery. Charlie knew that well... he himself felt that jittery anticipation. Something was coming. Or well... something should be coming, before they start imagining new cases out of pure boredom.

He should've known better than to even think something like that.

"So are we all wrapped up here?" Charlie asked, looking back at the house. Hobart shrugged.

"If Simmons doesn't find another body or a bloody axe somewhere, yeah. Where the hell is the kid anyway?" Hobart muttered, then cursed.

"Damn, I forgot my hat in the house."

"Go find Simmons, I'll get the hat," Charlie offered. He had no inclination of diving through the knee high grass behind the garden looking for wayward coppers. With his luck he would get bitten by a snake. Not to mention he wanted to take one last look inside the house before they all packed up and left back to the police station. He had a feeling he missed something.

Hobart didn't question his offer, just nodded and headed to the garden, already bellowing Simmons' name. Charlie rolled his eyes and waved at Blake who was heading back to his own car.

Charlie stepped back into the house, grimacing at the smell. He totally forgot about it. Well, that explained why Hobart preferred to brave the jungle of the garden to returning inside the house. With a sigh Charlie covered his nose with one hand and went looking for Hobart's hat. He found it pretty quickly, sitting on top of a desk in what looked like an office. Charlie grabbed the hat and was about to leave the room, when he paused. The room was dusty and full of junk like the rest of the house... except for this one place. Not a speck of dust. In the house like this it was more than just a bit suspicious. Charlie frowned and stepped closer to the book case that was covering a good third of the wall.

There was just something that didn't add up. A hunch or a feeling. Charlie didn't often get those, he knew it was more of Blake's specialty, but he just knew there was something different about this room.

Charlie had spent long enough in the doctor's company to learn about secret passages and hidden rooms. He even tried to imagine the outline of the house... to put together a map and see if there was a chance something was hidden behind this book case. But he would need a pen and a paper for that and check the next room and the hall. That felt just a bit too slow. Maybe he could try and figure this out right here and then. Charlie looked at the books, running his fingers over the spines, looking at the titles. It ranged from Agatha Christie novels to encyclopaedias. There was no rhyme or sense in the arrangement at all. Not alphabetical, not by size or author. Nothing. It was a hot mess, just like the rest of the house.

Charlie nodded. Well, nothing risked nothing gained. He felt like an idiot, but he started pushing and pulling at the books randomly. He was at it for several minutes, too caught up to notice another car pulling up. He noted the subtle click as he pulled at the War and peace however. Charlie paused, then pulled the book out all the way. The book case moved and Charlie noted the small pressure switch that was hidden behind the book before the book case just slid open, almost knocking him off his feet.

"Bloody hell!"

Charlie stepped back, startled. It took him a moment to overcome the awe over the fact he found a real hidden door, before even Blake could. Then he pulled out his torch and shone it into the darkness.

 

* * *

 

The engine in Blake's car was already running and he was about to drive off of the dead man's lawn, when he saw a car speeding towards the house. Blake paused. Whomever was in that car looked to be in a hurry. and as it was coming closer. As soon as the car parked only few meters from Blake's own car, a haggard looking middle aged man stepped out. Blake was of half mind to just leave, after all he had other work to do, patients to see. But he got a good look at the man's face as he paused, seemingly unsure of whether he should approach Blake or head straight towards the house. The face bore a striking resemblance to the man Blake had examined just a half an hour prior.

With a sigh, Blake killed the engine and stepped out of the car.

He wouldn't leave and let Charlie deal with a distracted relative alone if he could help it.

"Who are you?" the man asked as he finally decided that Blake might be of some importance.

"I'm the police surgeon, doctor Lucien Blake. Pleasure to meet you, mister?" Blake reached out offering his hand, but the man just stared at it, dumbfounded.

"Police surgeon?" he repeated and it was obvious he heard something, just couldn't believe it. Blake nodded and retracted the hand. Niceties weren't that important when there was death involved, he knew.

"Are you a relative to Mr. Hanson?"

"I'm his son," the man replied, his voice choked. "Peter Hanson. Is... is my father dead?"

Blake looked Peter in the eyes and simply nodded. There was no way to soften the blow and the man was already anticipating the answer.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Hanson. Your father was found dead earlier today by a postman."

As if hearing those words, Peter sagged back against his car, knees going weak. Blake instinctively grabbed for his arm, saving him from a fall.

"Here here, just sit down," he said as he opened the car door and pushed the man down on the seat. Peter took in several ragged breaths, running shaky hands through his hair and over his face.

"May I ask how did you know?" Blake doubted anyone from the station notified the man this soon.

"The neighbour called," Peter said, his eyes scanning the ground with interest. "She called because she'd seen the police cars and then the police started asking around. I... I work only a few miles away in the shop... I thought this was a mistake... Oh God."

Peter looked sick to his stomach and Blake put a calming hand on his shoulder, squeezing it in silent support. He looked around, hoping to see Hobart or Charlie pop out and come talk to Peter. Blake had questions, so many questions, but he was quite aware that none of the police officers would be happy about him getting to talk with Peter first without them present.

"How... how did he die?" Peter asked and there was something like detachment in his eyes. Blake grimaced.

"We are not sure yet. We'll have to wait for the autopsy."

Peter frowned.

"But... how can you not know? Was... was it violent? Or did he get sick?"

Blake paused.

"Why would you ask if it was violent?" he asked slowly, aware that he was maybe overstepping but also knowing that Peter's emotions were too raw right now and he might let something slip.

"Was it?" Peter blinked, then shook his head. "I don't know. Ever since coming back from war, my father always talked about someone coming after him and finishing the job. He is... he could be very paranoid at times. I wonder... just... what if he was right?"

Blake stored that information in his mind, then focused back on what Peter said.

"Did he have any enemies?"

Peter shook his head.

"No one in town. Dad was a recluse, ever since mom died. He just... he just seemed scared half the time. He was doing alright while mom was alive... she had a way with him. But afterwards... he went overboard. Didn't leave the house. Kept collecting all the guns and set up booby traps... my brother Mickey once opened a cabinet in the kitchen and a grenade rolled out. I mean... who does that?"

Blake froze. He looked around the house and he saw the war memorabilia, the photos, a helmet lying haphazardly on a chair. He knew Charlie had looked through some of the cabinets and closets as did Hobart. There were no signs of weapons however. No ammunition either. Might be there was really a break in and someone stole them?

"How many guns did your father have?"

Peter shrugged.

"I don't know. He never really let me go near them. After the incident with the grenade both Mickey and I swore not to visit him until he put it all somewhere safe. So he hid the stuff inside the bunker."

"Bunker?" Blake frowned. "What do you mean?"

"It's... not a real bunker. It was actually a bomb shelter, sort of. The house is built right on top of it. We always just used it as a cellar, but then dad went all crazy and hid the entrance behind a book case." Peter waved it off, obviously frustrated with the memories. Blake noticed movement around the house and waved at Bill and the constable to come over. There was a cold feeling in his stomach he couldn't explain.

He knew how much war and loss of a loved one could change a person. How strong the paranoia could get. He also knew that Charlie and the other officer were somewhere inside the house and didn't know there could be live ammunition lying around.

"Bill, this is Peter, son of Mr. Marty Hanson. You might want to talk to him," Blake said as soon as Hobart approached. "Excuse me, gentlemen, I need to talk to Charlie."

Without waiting for a reply, Blake pushed past a surprised and annoyed looking Hobart and headed inside the house.

"Charlie?" he called out in the hall, unsure where the man had gone. Surely, finding Hobart's hat couldn't be taking up so much time. "Charlie!" Blake repeated his call, only to get a curious look from Kevin who peered in through a window.

"Have you seen constable Davis?" Blake asked but only got a shake of a head in reply and a finger pointed somewhere inside the house. With a sigh and a growing feeling of unease, Blake started looking through the rooms one by one. Until he reached the office and noted what looked to be an open door with a book case and the dark space behind.

"Charlie!" he called out once again and felt relief when he saw the light of a torch appear somewhere down below, followed by a familiar: "Doc?"

"Can you come out, please?" Blake asked, uncomfortable with the thought of entering the cellar. He never did well in small closed spaces and the stairway seemed narrow enough for one person, not to mention two.

"Yeah. You won't believe what I found in here, Doc-" Charlie was saying excitedly and Blake saw his silhouette at the bottom of the stairs, moving up.

"Just be careful, Charlie-" he started to say but before he could finish he saw Charlie stumble over something right at the bottom stair. There was a sound of a click and Charlie turned, the light of his torch catching on a little round thing rolling across the floor. Blake heard an uncharacteristic curse coming from Charlie's lips as the torch fell out of his hand.

"Charlie?"

"Cover!" Charlie managed to shout as he ran up the stairs. Blake's eyes widened and he reached out, trying to grab Charlie's arm and pull him into safety as his brain connected the dots... but he was too late.

There was a blast of light so loud it felt like the world was coming down. Blake felt the pressure wave hit him straight in the chest as he was thrown backwards several meters. He rolled on the floor, stopping at the wall, dazed. His ears were ringing from the blast and for a moment the house vanished. He was looking up at the ceiling, but all he saw instead was a dark night sky filled with stars and the sounds of bombardiers flying through. The sound of falling bombs and people screaming in fear and pain... the smell of gunpowder, dirt and something else. Death.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a bit longer chapter after the cliffhanger, hope you'll enjoy it :)
> 
> Disclaimer: I'm not a medical professional nor an expert in any field lol. This is just a work of fiction aided by a bit of google research on the topics, so if I got something wrong please take it with a grain of salt (but do let me know). Thanks:)

* * *

When Charlie took the first step down those stairs, he wasn't sure what to expect. The light from his torch at first showed only a narrow staircase with walls built of solid concrete. It felt like he was descending into a different building, like this wasn't even the part of the original wooden house. Charlie paused for a moment, wondering if he should first go outside and let the others know what he found. But that would take time and then Bill would be all over their find. And he was halfway down the stairs anyway.

So Charlie decided to go on. As he moved the torch, the light showed a room filled with racks. Charlie frowned, trying to make out what was in those racks, trying to see behind the shadows. A chill went down his spine as he caught sight of something familiar. A gun... or rather, several of them.

Charlie took a step forward, not realizing there was one more step and so he was momentarily caught by surprise with the feeling of falling. Cursing, he reached out and made a rather inelegant attempt at righting himself. He ended up stumbling a few feet, but finally he stood still. Catching his breath and thanking God that Hobart or one of the junior constables didn't see his fumble, Charlie finally gave his full attention to the room.

He turned around slowly, letting the light of his torch fall on every rack and wall. By his estimate, the room wasn't all that large... maybe like the kitchen upstairs. One wall was free of anything but an old table with several files and books lying on top of it. There was a chair and a lamp, but Charlie didn't dare to turn it on yet. He took a step closer and read the titles of the books. Old army manuals, war strategies and books about weaponry. The files had names on the top and looked like army files. Charlie carefully opened one of them and scanned the name and the photo. There was a large MIA stamp across it and Charlie let the file slip closed. This would have to wait for later. Preferably until Blake did the autopsy and let them know what really killed the man.

With a sigh, Charlie wandered around the room, making sure he didn't touch anything. There were several pistols and revolvers lying around... army helmets and even several pairs of combat boots. It looked like Marty was preparing for war... this time in his own home.

"Charlie!" he heard his name from the familiar voice.

"Doc?" Charlie stepped towards the stairs so he could look up. He would've thought Blake had already left. But this was good. He could come and take a look right away.

"Can you come out, please?" Blake asked and there was a nervous undertone in his voice.

"Yeah. You won't believe what I found in here, Doc-" Charlie said, suddenly excited to share his find. If anyone would appreciate his detective proves, it would be Blake.

"Just be careful, Charlie-" Blake said as Charlie was already heading upstairs. Charlie wanted to ask what Blake was talking about, he wanted to show him the room and share new theories, when he felt a tug at his right leg and stumbled. Somehow miffed that it was the second time in such a short while that he lost his balance, Charlie let out a curse and looked down. That's when he saw the wire he tripped over, that's when he heard a click and something hitting the floor, rolling. He didn't even need to look really... some inner sense told him it was danger. But he did look and in the next second the torch fell from his hand as he bolted up the stairs, towards the exit.

_One_

"Charlie?" Blake was still standing there, confused and a startled look adorning his face and all Charlie could think about was that he just maybe killed both of them. And how much time did they have? What was the delay on those things?

_Two_

"Cover!" Charlie shouted. 'Take cover!' his mind screamed and he saw Blake reached forward, trying to help. Understanding.

_Three_

Charlie hesitated, he didn't want to pull Blake closer to the danger. But the man wasn't budging and Charlie reached out.

_Four_

Their fingers almost touched as Charlie was almost at the top of the stairs, almost safe.

_Fiv-_

Charlie didn't finish counting.

The stairway flashed bright, but Charlie didn't really notice. He felt as if the world's biggest elephant kicked him with huge force right in the back. He felt the pressure reverberate through his bones, blast through his organs and move his body as if it was a simple rag-doll. Charlie saw the world tumble, while two ice picks stabbed him in the ears, making him feel like his brain would leak out right then and there. He wanted to shout but the air was stolen from his lungs. Time had stopped.

Amidst all the chaos, Charlie's eyes caught sight of the top concrete stair. By some miracle, Charlie managed to put out his arm before he could crash head first into the hard edge.

Charlie's life flashed before his eyes.

_First memory of his mother as he was reaching up to her from the crib._

_First time he saw his baby brother._

_First time his dad took him to one of his boxing matches. He was so proud he was big enough to go, so happy it was only him and not his brothers._

_A barrage of images all of his family, of his father, of his arrival to Ballarat._

_A glimpse of a familiar, yet so long unseen face, waiting somewhere in the distance, beckoning him to come closer._

There was a crack that Charlie didn't hear but he felt it up to his teeth. It was a jolt of pain and he did scream, but it was all lost in the incredible ringing sound as the world seemed to topple down on him.

For a moment he couldn't breathe. Something was squeezing his chest tight.

_Breathe!_

Charlie's mind screamed at him and as a piece of plaster fell only inches from Charlie's face, his startle reflex kicked in. Charlie took in several breaths, trying not to cough. His whole body was throbbing as if he'd just got a good trashing. Somewhere in the distance... or maybe not even that far... Charlie could feel pops, like muffled gunshots. He didn't really hear them though. He couldn't, not with the damn alarm blasting full force.

What was the emergency? Was there a fire somewhere? Had he overslept for work?

Charlie didn't know. He just knew the sound was making his headache so much worse. He needed quiet and peace, he needed to get some sleep before tackling whatever emergency was on the horizon.

Charlie was almost drifting, ignoring the uncomfortable position his body was laid in or the overall discomfort. He was just so tired. Even though there was a nagging feeling he should maybe get up and find out what the loud ringing noise was about, Charlie felt that if he did that, he wouldn't be able to get the rest he wanted. And for once he wanted to be selfish. After all, if there was some problem, Blake could well enough take care of it himself.

Charlie winced at the thought. Blake. Why... why did he feel like the man was in some sort of danger?

Maybe he should at least open his eyes and look. Just to make sure Blake was safe. Last time he saw him, he was just reaching out towards him...

Charlie tensed and felt his breath catch in his chest.

_He was reaching for me..._

Charlie opened his eyes, then shut them closed. There was dust everywhere. Sun was shining through a broken window of an unfamiliar room, making the dust look almost like burning embers. Charlie blinked once again, trying to adjust to the light. Trying not to sneeze.

He was lying on the floor... or maybe even below it. That was strange. Charlie's line of sight was equal to the floor... he could see the carpet only inches from his face. He could see shoes lying still further away... he could see shoes moving frantically around. Several pairs of them, moving so fast it made Charlie dizzy. He followed the pair that headed his way and for a moment wondered whether he'll be walked on. It was almost funny... like watching an old mute movie. No sound, except for the piano in the background... which in Charlie's case was replaced by shrill ringing.

The shoes thankfully stopped and Charlie blinked once again. They were familiar... the same as he wore at work. As the owner of the shoes squatted down next to him, he could see it was Bill. His mouth was moving and there was a startled, almost panicked look on his face. Charlie thought this must've been a dream. In what world would Bill Hobart look panicked yet unable to utter a sound.

Or maybe he was speaking, just not loud enough for the sound to get through the veil inside Charlie's mind. He decided it didn't matter really. Bill was here, he could take care of any pressing matter for now. Charlie closed his eyes.

Only to open them wide as pure agony gripped his arm. Or rather, it was Bill.

For some incomprehensible reason, while Charlie was deciding to take a nap, the man reached out and took hold of Charlie's arms. Without any warning, he pulled, moving Charlie's body up onto the carpeted floor of the room.

It wouldn't have been so bad.

If Bill hadn't grabbed Charlie's left arm. The one that must've been shattered to pieces.

At least that's how it felt when Bill pulled. It was like someone crushed his bones and rubbed the raw nerve endings together. Charlie couldn't help it, he screamed. For a flashing moment Charlie wondered how come that not even his scream could pierce through the ringing in his ears, then finally he had fallen into blissfully silent unconsciousness.

 

* * *

 

A piercing scream tore him out of past nightmares into the present.

Blake instinctively fought away the helping hands, his mind still partially trapped in a battle. A young copper was leaning over him, his face pale and scared as he was giving him a worried look and trying to keep a safe distance. Blake almost felt bad for it. Almost... until he remembered the pained sound.

„Charlie?" he called out, the words sounding muffled through the ringing in his ears. He shook his head and reached up, relieved to feel no blood on his ears. He could still hear, albeit not as well as he would've liked. But that would pass. Right now he had to get up and help Charlie.

The young cop - Kevin was his name, Blake remembered distractedly, found the courage to once again offer him a hand up. This time Blake accepted it with a slightly embarrassed thanks. He wavered a bit and had to take a second for the room to settle down. The smell of gunpowder and dust made his stomach churn, images from not so long ago popping back up in his mind. Seeing an unmoving body just a few meters away didn't make the nausea go away either.

"Don't... don't move him!" Blake exclaimed when he saw Bill trying to manoeuvre Charlie away from the opening to the room. Hobart looked up with a grim look on his face.

"We don't know what else is in there, it can blow up! The guy had a whole chemistry storage back in the shed."

Blake took that under consideration. He thought that the sounds of shots were just part of his flashback, but based on Bill's reaction, they were all too real. A magazine of bullets must've been too close to the explosion and it went off. Still, he didn't want to risk Charlie having a spine injury.

"If there was something else to blow up it would've already done it," Blake said even as he knelt down next to Charlie's prone form.

Bill had at least managed to get Charlie away from the stairs, but it didn't look like he was in a much more comfortable position. Charlie was lying face down on the carpet, one arm stuck uncomfortably underneath, the other... well. Blake could tell right away it was broken.

Blake could see Charlie was breathing at least, his body moving slightly at each inhale. But he was clearly unconscious. Blake reached out and put his fingers on Charlie's neck, checking his pulse. It was strong, albeit a bit too fast. His hand brushed against something wet and he cringed when he saw blood running down from Charlie's right ear.

"He was awake I think," Hobart said, sounding hopeful and at the same time guilty. "But I moved him before I saw that broken arm. He passed out then."

Blake nodded absentmindedly, hoping that it was indeed just the pain from the broken arm that knocked Charlie out and not some other, more serious injury.

"Did you call an ambulance?"

Hobart nodded.

"Told Simmons to call it in the moment I heard the blast. What the hell happened here, Blake?"

Blake shook his head.

"I think Charlie tripped a booby trap. Possibly a hand grenade. Sounded... sounded familiar," Blake swallowed, thinking it was the same sound the MK 2 made when it malfunctioned and blew up prematurely, still tightly clutched in an unprepared soldier's hand. It wasn't a pretty picture then and Blake could only thank God that Charlie was far away and mostly protected by the walls of the staircase to be pelted with shrapnel. Mostly, he amended with a cringe as he saw one shrapnel deeply embedded in the back of Charlie's right calf.

"Will he be okay?" Bill asked, uncharacteristically concerned about his colleague. "The blood..." he pointed towards his own ear and Blake understood.

"It... it might be just a ruptured eardrum." He really hoped that was the case. Eardrums could heal. If there was bleeding inside his brain, that would be much worse.

Blake ran his hands over Charlie's back, visually inspecting for any more shrapnel and feeling for any deformations, any breaks. He made extra sure to check along his spine. Once he was satisfied, he looked at Hobart.

"I'll need your help. We need to turn him, but carefully. Kevin?"

"Yes doctor?" the young cop asked eagerly.

"Grab... grab some pillows and blankets if you can. We will need to raise his legs a bit, especially the wounded one."

"On it," Kevin was gone before Blake even finished talking. Bill let out a sigh, clearly not having the energy to deal with the rookie.

"Where's Marty's son?"

"Waiting outside with Simmons. I didn't want any civilian inside in case this place could blow up."

"Good thinking," Blake agreed, looking at Charlie's broken arm with a grimace. He was sure turning Charlie around would hurt like hell, so having him unconscious was maybe a relief. But at the same time Blake wished Charlie was awake and alert, even though he realized it was selfish. He wanted to make sure the kid was alright.

Kevin was back in a minute and Blake promptly instructed both him and Hobart where to take hold of Charlie and how to move him. When they were all in place, Blake gave a simple nod and they moved as one. Charlie was swiftly but carefully rolled first onto his side then back, so that the trapped arm beneath him could be freed. Blake made sure to move his broken arm as gently as possible, but he could sense the moment Charlie jolted back into consciousness. There was a gasp and tensing of muscles.

„Charlie?" Blake asked, but Charlie's eyes were tightly shut, his face scrunched up in a grimace of pain. Blake gently put down the injured limb on a pillow Kevin brought, then nodded at Kevin to put the bunched up blanket under Charlie's legs, raising them so that the wound in Charlie's leg didn't touch the ground. Bill was putting pillows around Charlie's head so that he couldn't move around, while resting one hand on the younger man's shoulder, to stop him from trying to get up.

Situation mostly under control, Blake could do his inspection. He saw a bruise on Charlie's cheek, probably as he had hit the stairs, but no other visible injury.

"Thank you, Kevin. Could you perhaps go and check the situation with the ambulance?"

Kevin shot a look towards Hobart but after a stern nod quickly left.

"Charlie? Can you hear me?" Blake asked and gently tapped Charlie's cheek. "Come on, open your eyes."

Charlie didn't react to the words, but the moment Blake's hand touched his face, his eyes blinked open.

"There you go," Blake said with a smile. Charlie frowned, his breathing speeding up a bit.

"Doc?" he asked, then his eyes grew wider and he tried to reach up towards his head in panic. He let out a pained gasp as he automatically wanted to use his injured left arm.

"Try not to move," Blake said a bit too late. "Your arm is broken, but you will be fine," he continued, seeing the growing panic in Charlie's eyes and trying to stop it.

"Doc? I... I can't hear you!" Charlie said in what was almost a whisper. "I can't hear myself," he added, his voice breaking as the reality of the situation dawned on him.

 

* * *

 

Blake's lips were moving but Charlie couldn't make out the words. All he heard was the persistent ringing and buzzing. His head hurt, but it was nowhere as bad as when the blast went off. The pain in his ears and inside his head that moment was something he would never forget. But it was nothing compared to the fear that gripped his innards at the thought that he might've just lost his hearing and his job at the same moment. Just the thought of losing his independence like that... his career... made him want to curl up in a ball and cry. He could feel hot tears springing into his eyes, but even if he couldn't hear he was aware of Hobart squatting by his side and Blake... still talking.

Charlie blinked away the tears, breath hitching as he tried to make sense of it all. He remembered the blast, he remembered seeing Blake being flung backwards. But the man was leaning over him now, ruffled and a bit dusty, definitely worried looking, but without a scratch on him. At least some relief.

"Doc, I can't hear you," Charlie repeated, knowing he probably sounded scared but unable to change it. Blake stopped talking, a look of frustration quickly passing through his face. Then he pointed to his lips and slowly and a bit too strongly pronounced Charlie's name.

Charlie blinked and tried to take a calming breath.

_Read my lips_ , the Doc mouthed and Charlie gave a small nod. Blake smiled.

_Good._

_Now calm down._

That was easier said than done, Charlie thought and once again tried to reach up to his head, this time using his good arm. Blake let him, only stopping him when he touched his right ear and felt something wet. Charlie swallowed.

"Ears?" he asked rather loudly, at least if the wince of both men was any indication. He couldn't help it... he wanted to scream, as loud as his throat would allow, just to see if he could hear anything.

_Can be temporary,_ Blake mouthed and Charlie felt his heart skip a beat. He felt like a little kid, wanting to ask Blake for reassurances, to make the Doc promise that it'll be alright and his hearing would come back. But he bit back the desire and tried to take Blake's words at face value. Okay then. His hearing might come back. He would have to believe that until Blake didn't say something else. No reason to fret. And no reason to lie around like an invalid either.

"Up?" he asked, aware that his volume control was shot to hell, so the least he could do was speak as little as possible to keep himself from shouting at everyone. Charlie didn't really wait for a reply and he raised his head from the floor, turning a bit to his right, ready to use his uninjured arm to push himself up.

But before he could manage much more, Blake put a restraining hand on his chest and pushed him back. Charlie relented. Not because he couldn't have forced Blake off, but because even the slight move made his head spin. He had to close his eyes and take in several deep breaths to try and stave off the nausea. He knew he must've made some sound of discomfort, because Blake's hand was back tapping on his cheek, demanding attention. Charlie blinked, but quickly closed his eyes. The room still seemed a bit wobbly.

There was more nudging from Blake, until finally his patience seemed to give up. Charlie felt his eyes pried open and grimaced, finally complying and looking straight up at Blake.

"Dizzy," he muttered and was rewarded by a nod. It was obvious that Blake wanted to say more, but knew that right now Charlie couldn't really focus on reading his lips. Not without risking getting sick and Charlie didn't want to imagine how much fun that would be in his current state.

_Rest._

Charlie sighed. He wanted to protest, because there was no reason he should be lying on the floor of a dead man's house while everyone else had work to do. He should be up and around, trying to figure out just why the hell did the man have a whole arsenal stored in a hidden room... and whether it was the reason why he was now dead.

Instead he was nursing a broken arm - his left one - and won't that be just fun when writing reports or doing just about anything? But the thought was pushed away by the nagging worry that maybe he won't need to write the reports any more, if his hearing didn't return.

Charlie tried to move the fingers on his left hand. The jolt of pain shooting all the way up to his shoulder at the attempt gave him at least a partial relief from his dark thoughts. No... he wouldn't think about the worst. Right now... right now he needed to find the strength to get up and get off this damn cold floor. He didn't want to be a spectacle. He didn't want to keep Blake or Hobart from their work anymore. Maybe one of them could just drive him to the hospital to get patched up, then he could go home, curl up in his bed and pretend the world didn't exist for a day or two. Pretend his head wasn't full of angry bees buzzing around and the incessant ringing.

He was making up the courage to once again attempt to get up and opened his eyes, only to see more people moving around. He blinked in confusion and a bit of a startle. He couldn't see Hobart anywhere, but Blake was still there, his hand still resting on Charlie's shoulder in reassurance, even as he was busy talking to the two other men. Charlie recognized the uniforms and if nothing else, the stretcher was a clear sign these were medics.

"I'm fine," he uttered, which got him a glance from Blake and a small pat on the shoulder, but it didn't seem to deter the medics from leaning down and without much fuss moving him over to the stretcher.

Charlie grit his teeth as pain shot through his whole body. Only then did he realize there was something wrong with his leg as well, but it didn't matter. The pain from a jostled broken arm and the nausea at the sudden move had overpowered all other sensation.

As the stretcher was picked up and he was carried out of the house into the bright sunny day, Charlie closed his eyes tight and wished for sweet unconsciousness. Anything but the feeling of disorientation that overwhelmed him. It was like being stuck onboard of a ship in the middle of a storm, but instead of the rush of water he was attacked by the sound of angry bees and bells.

The ride in the ambulance was pure hell. The movement of the car was only contributing to his nausea and every bump on the road sent spears of pain through his arm. At one point Charlie panicked when he opened his eyes and all he saw was a stranger leaning close to him, mouth moving. Charlie looked frantically around the ambulance, searching for the one person he could trust. But Blake wasn't there and everything was spinning. Charlie moaned, his one good hand clenching into a fist. That's when the medic tapped his arm. As soon as he got Charlie's attention, he pointed outside of the car and tapped the wall of the ambulance. Charlie frowned in confusion until he managed to read the man's lips.

'He's following.'

For a second Charlie felt like an idiot. Then came the relief. Charlie didn't trust the doctor's at the hospital all that much, he definitely wasn't a fan. But if Blake was there, he was safe. He sagged back on the stretcher and tried to focus only on his breathing. In and out. Nothing else.

When they arrived at the hospital, Charlie was aware only of the orchestrated chaos. At least that's how he thought of it as each time he opened his eyes there was someone else moving around, checking things, prodding him. Each time he saw a different person Charlie startled a bit. Unable to hear their approach, unable to keep his eyes open to follow the situation because of the dizziness, Charlie had to give up trying to make sense of what was going on. The only constant was Blake, always there to offer support.

At long last Charlie felt a prick of a needle in his arm and soon after the pain abated.

It didn't make the buzzing or the nausea go away, if anything the room seemed to be spinning more and more, but as the pain dulled, Charlie finally managed to fall asleep. Before he succumbed to the drugs, his eyes opened to slits and he caught sight of Blake. The man was standing by the foot of his bed, talking to another doctor, but must've sensed Charlie's eyes on him. He turned and gave him a reassuring smile.

' _Sleep, Charlie.'_

So he did.

 

* * *

 

Lucien thought he could handle this. After the medics arrived and Charlie was bustled into an ambulance, Lucien followed in his own car. He turned the radio full blast, ignoring the looks of some people as he passed them by during the ride. He needed to push back the noises that were battling inside his mind. The shots and explosions, the screaming of fallen soldiers. The radio did its job and Lucien turned it off only once he arrived at the hospital, right behind the ambulance.

What followed was a bit of a blur. Blake was happy to see that the admitting doctor at the emergency was one of the more competent ones. The nurses were great as well, even though Blake would have preferred to have Mattie there. He felt a jab of nostalgia hit him at the thought of Mattie. His emotions seemed to be all over the place as he noted when the x-ray technician jostled Charlie's arm, causing him to cry out in pain. Blake  _growled_  at the man, giving him a death glare. The technician looked more confused than scared but he did apologize. Blake didn't care. He saw Charlie's wide blue pain filled eyes roam across the room in panic and he was sure to catch his sight.

Blake was amazed to see how simply seeing him there made Charlie calm down. He wasn't sure he deserved that much trust, but this wasn't the time to question it. So he ignored everyone trying to get him to leave the room and get checked out or just give them space, until at long last Charlie finally succumbed to the pain and the drugs.

"Dr. Blake, please, let us handle this," Dr. Brett, the one admitting Charlie spoke. "Your friend is out of danger and fast asleep. Let the nurses clean him up and settle in a room. You can sit with him later on if you wish."

Blake looked at the doctor, then at Charlie. Brett was right. Charlie was out cold and the nurses were trying to comb the dust and plaster from his hair and clean his face with a wet towel, while trying to get past Blake. He was in the way and making them nervous. Not to mention... any imminent danger was gone. He would better serve if he left them to work in peace.

With a nod, Blake gave one last assessing look Charlie's way. He looked peaceful, the pain lines momentarily gone from his face, along with plaster and soot. Not at all like the screaming soldier clutching at the stump of his arm left behind after that grenade exploded.

Blake blinked, wavering a bit.

For a second, the hospital had vanished and he was back on the field, surrounded by the enemy and death.

"Doctor Blake? Are you alright?" Brett was holding him up by the arm, giving him a concerned look.

Blake swallowed and nodded.

"Yeah. I just... need some air. You're right. I'm just in the way."

With those words, Blake left the room in a hurry. He stumbled through the corridors, jerking as somewhere a bedpan clattered to the floor, a wife wept for her husband. He ignored the looks of concern from the nurses he passed or even a friendly question. All that mattered was to get out, get somewhere quiet, smell the fresh air. Anything but the disinfectant and smell of sickness that filled his nostrils.

As soon as he left the hospital building, Blake veered towards the nearest bench. He sat down heavily, for a moment just gasping down the precious air. He heard the birds singing, heard cars passing by, people chatter. But none of it was enough to push past the ringing in his ears, the wail of a siren announcing more bombs falling down. A cry of a child nearby changed into the cry of a soldier and Blake leaned over, burying his face in his hands, trying to push away the sounds, push away the memories.

He was so lost in his nightmare that he didn't notice the approaching footsteps until a hand touched his shoulder. Blake startled and looked up, straight into the slightly panicked face of his old friend.

"Lucien! My God. Charlie... is he...?" Matthew Lawson stood there, fear and worry plain in his eyes.

Blake frowned, finally getting control over his breathing.

"What?" That's when he realized how this must've looked like, Lawson finding him in such state outside the hospital. "No. No... Charlie is alright," Blake hastily said, giving Lawson's arm a pat. "He's alright."

"Then what in hell's name is wrong?" Lawson burst out angrily, then sat down on the bench next to Lucien.

Blake blinked, unsure what to say. As a doctor, he knew what was happening to him. Flashbacks triggered by the blast. As a person though... he just felt as if he was going crazy. And no amount of trying to convince himself that the smell of gunpowder wasn't real could help with that. So he straightened up, ran a shaky hand over his hair, ignoring the feel of dust on his fingers and told a lie.

"It's nothing. "

"You're shaking and looking like you've just seen a ghost. It's definitely not nothing."

"Drop it, Matthew. Please."

Matthew looked at him, then with a sigh he nodded.

"How's Charlie?"

„He was lucky. If he had stayed in the room when the grenade went off... the damage would be much worse." Blake shook his head, pushing away the images of bodies littered with shrapnel.

„Jesus," Lawson sighed. „Bill said that there was still some shrapnel that hit him?"

„Right calf. It went deep and there's some damage, but it should heal fine. Same with the broken arm."

"What about the head? Bill was rather... well." Lawson grimaced and Blake wondered if Bill was so worried, why he didn't tag along. Lawson saw the question in his eyes. "He's still at the scene, securing the house and the yard with the fire brigade. We are waiting for a pyrotechnic, just to be safe. The shed in the yard was filled with volatile chemicals."

Blake cringed, then thanked God they weren't all blown to smithereens.

"How in the hell did he get his hands on all of that?"

Lawson shrugged.

"We're looking into it. The son said that he brought some of the guns back from the war... some he bought from other soldiers years later. As for the chemicals, they can be purchased for gardening as you know."

"Yes. Crazy as that may be," Blake sighed, running a hand over his face and noting with dismay that it was shaking.

"So... Charlie is gonna be fine, yeah? I don't have to go looking for any new pupil to train in?"

Blake hesitated and Lawson caught that. His eyes squinted.

„Lucien?" he growled.

"He has some trouble with his hearing, though that's no surprise. It should return in few days or weeks... before he's out of the cast anyway."

"But there's a chance he will lose his hearing?" Lawson frowned. He knew how big of a deal that would be for Charlie... for any cop really.

"We will see in the next few days or weeks. It might heal by itself, or need a patch. He can suffer from partial hearing loss or be totally fine. I don't know, Matthew. It needs time."

Matthew nodded.

"Does the kid know?"

"He knows something's wrong, but there was really no time to try and explain it to him. I'll have to tell him somehow once he wakes up." Which reminded Blake that he had wallowed long enough and that maybe it was time to return inside. He was about to get up, but Lawson grabbed his arm and pulled him back to the bench. Blake gave him a questioning look and Lawson shook his head.

"No. Not like this. You need to go home."

Blake frowned.

"I'm not leaving Charlie to wake up alone in this situation."

"He won't be alone. Either me or Rose will be there. But you need to go home and take care of yourself first."

"I'm fine," Blake protested and Lawson snorted.

"Frankly, you don't look it. And if Charlie sees you this way, he will have a hard time believing he's not dying."

Lawson pointed towards Blake's shirt sleeve, which was covered in dust and blood.

"Go home. Shower. Sleep. Hell, get drunk off your ass, I don't care. Just don't show up until you get your head straight on, alright?"

Blake wanted to protest. His head was firmly attached to his neck, thank you very much, if nothing else, the pulsating headache was evidence enough. But there was also the sound of ringing and the crawling feeling of danger that was still permeating his body. The slight shaking of limbs, the feeling that any moment Ballarat would vanish to be replaced by a gloomy war field or an intermittent camp was just too much. Blake shuddered at the thought of sitting still in a hospital room, waiting for Charlie to wake up. The smell alone would probably trigger another flashback.

So instead of telling Lawson to go stuff himself, Blake nodded.

„Make sure he doesn't panic... yeah?"

Lawson raised an eyebrow.

"What... with my calming presence by his side?"

Blake snorted, a small smile quirking his lips.

"Do you need a ride home?" Lawson asked all serious.

"No, thanks. I've parked my car somewhere near," Blake said, already looking for the familiar Holden, spotting it near the ambulance bay. He grimaced at the thought of getting a ticket for that, but alas, sometimes it paid off being the police surgeon.

"Are you sure you're  _fit_  to drive?"

"Of course," Blake stood, straightening his jacket. "I'm fine."

"If you say so," Lawson muttered, sounding all but convinced. He also stood up and cast a look towards the hospital.

"Tell Charlie I'll be back shortly," Blake said. Lawson nodded.

"Take your time. I'll call if there's any change."

"Thank you, Matthew," Blake said, patting his friend on the shoulder then headed for his car before he could change his mind.

 

* * *

 

The ride home passed in a haze and Blake was frankly surprised when he parked the car in front of his house without an accident. He was less surprised as he walked inside the house and was confronted by Jean.

"Lucien! What on earth happened? Are you alright?" she rushed out towards him, her eyes sweeping his form, pausing at the dirty clothes. Blake for all his usual verbosity couldn't come up with a better answer than: "What?"

Jean's eyes narrowed and she reached out, touching his face and possibly wiping off some dust. At least Blake hoped it was dust and not blood. He looked at her and saw her face full of concern but also anger simmering under the surface and it gave him a bit of a jolt.

"How did you know?" he asked and Jean stepped back, arms crossed over her chest.

"Matthew just called. Thank God for that. At least someone thought about letting me know, before I was hit with the gossip about a house blowing up with some cops and a doctor inside!" There was the anger and Blake winced.

"I'm sorry, Jean. I was busy with Charlie and then..." Blake shook his head. "I wasn't really thinking."

Jean's eyes and whole posture softened and just like that the anger seemed to simmer out of her. Blake understood that the outburst was mostly caused by the worry and he couldn't begrudge her for that. After all, he did the same thing back at the hospital. Not to mention if anything was to happen to Jean and he wouldn't be told right away... he took a step closer to her, suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to have her in his arms. Jean understood and let him wrap her in a hug, for a moment closing his eyes and just taking in the smell of her shampoo. It was so much better than the smell of gunpowder and blood.

"I'm sorry, dear," he muttered.

"What for?" she enquired and Lucien realized that might've been a trap but he replied anyway.

"Scaring you like that," he said and got a small nudge.

"And?" Jean pressed.

"For not informing you?" Blake said, although it was more of a question.

"That's right. Now come and sit down, I'll make you some tea and toast and you can tell me what happened. And how is Charlie."

"Haven't you talked with Matthew?" Blake frowned. The man should've known how was Charlie doing at the moment. He was supposed to stay with him after all... and not go tattling to Jean.

Jean just rolled her eyes.

"Matthew knows only what you told him. And Charlie is still sleeping," she added as she led him towards the table. Blake meekly followed.

He spent the next ten minutes explaining Jean what happened, while sipping at his tea and trying to swallow down some cookies. While he usually loved Jean's cookies, these tasted like cardboard. Though Blake was sure it was just him. Even the warm tea didn't do anything to chase away the shaking of his hands, so he just clutched at the cup and hoped that Jean wouldn't notice. Of course she did.

"Matthew was right," she sighed and took the empty cup from his hands.

"About what?" Blake looked up, confused.

"You need to get some rest."

This time it was Blake whose eyes narrowed.

"I'm bloody fine!" he snapped. Jean turned, a raised eyebrow the only reaction to his outburst. Blake instantly felt bad.

"You know I'm not a fan of this double-teaming you and Matthew have going."

"Unless it's you and someone else double-teaming against me or Charlie, right?" she said with a smirk and Blake snorted.

"As if that ever happened."

Jean pursed her lips and Blake had the decency to look away. He cleared his throat.

"I think I'll take that shower everyone is so fond of mentioning." Blake stood, then sighed. "Damn, didn't I have some patients scheduled for this afternoon?"

"Three. Mrs. Eileen was here and a bit displeased but I bribed her with cookies. She'll stop by tomorrow afternoon. When you didn't appear I knew something had happened, so I called the next two patients and rescheduled them as well."

"You're a godsend," Blake said with a smile and gave Jean a quick peck on the cheek.

She just rolled her eyes.

"You better remember that next time you forget phones exist," she muttered then shooed him out of the kitchen.

 

* * *

 

 

Blake thought the shower might help. The hot water gave him momentary relief from the ringing in his ears but each time he closed his eyes all he saw was the young soldier with the missing hand and shrapnel littering his body. The boy didn't survive long, despite Blake's attempt at help. What was worse, he wasn't the only one hit. Only a few meters further was his comrade and it took Blake a precious minute to realize that he was hit as well. There was really no choice... the boy without the arm was close to death. Blake still didn't want to leave him alone. Pale blue eyes looked at him pleadingly, filled with pain and terror until all the recollection faded away. Blake could hear the soldiers around him calling for his attention as the other one was fighting for his life, a shrapnel caught in his neck, the gurgling sound the only sign he was still alive. Blake still couldn't leave the kid alone. He grabbed the nearest soldier and pulled him down into the mud, practically pushing the dying soldier into his arms.

"Stay with him!" Blake barked and feeling like a coward left to try and save the other one.

That day both man died on the field... because of a faulty grenade. And Blake couldn't do a thing about it... except run his fingers over their faces and close their eyes, so they didn't have to keep looking at the destruction around. They were not the first casualties of the war that Blake had the misfortune of seeing. Nor were they the last.

"Bloody hell!" Blake cursed and jumped, startled. The water in the shower had run cold. Blake turned it off quickly and stepped out, cursing as he was trying to towel off with shaking hands. So much for warming up and stopping the shaking.

He reached for his clothes and realized there was a fresh pair of them lying on the stool by the door. Sometimes during his walk through the past Jean must've lurked in.

Blake felt a blush creep onto his face. Not at the idea of Jean peeking in, but at the possibility that she might've caught sight of him in such a state... lost in his past. Shuddering, Blake dismissed the thought. If Jean had seen him, she would've said something surely.

Once he put on fresh clothes, pausing at the smell of them, he headed for his office. Lying down might've been a good idea, but sleep was the last thing Blake wanted to do. No, he needed distraction. He needed to think about the case, about anything else but the blast in the library or the panicked look in Charlie's pale blue eyes.

A shiver ran down his spine.

Blake crossed the office and headed straight for the liquor cabinet. A bit of whiskey might take care of the blasted shaking. And maybe afterwards he could stop by at the morgue and lend Alice a hand in the autopsy. Yes, that sounded like a great plan.

Blake poured himself a full glass and without a flinch downed half of it. The liquid burned its way down his throat, chasing away the taste of dust. The heat reached his stomach and spread into his bloodstream, through his veins. Lucien finally relaxed and sat down in the chair. One more glass and he would be ready to face the world. One more glass and maybe the ghost of the blue eyed soldier would vanish from the corner of his room.

 

* * *

 

The buzzing was driving him crazy. Charlie just wanted it to stop, to be granted a moment of peace before he had to wake up and face the world. But the sound was relentless and Charlie moved his hand. Was there a pack of bees nearby? His face scrunched up in a frown. Maybe he left the window open and something flew in... maybe Blake was doing one of his crazy experiments and messed up the new vacuum so that the engine gave off this awful sound. Charlie groaned and turned to his side. Or well, he attempted to, with the intention of pulling the blanket over his face and stifling the sound with a pillow. But the usually easy movement caused him to let out a gasp. Things  _hurt_. Charlie froze mid motion, teeth gritted and eyes snapping open.

He wasn't at home.

The room he was in was dim, the only source of light from a bedside lamp and from the door with the glass pane. Charlie was only partially turned but he sensed that it was dark outside. Probably the middle of the night.

"What..." he asked but paused. He knew he spoke out loud. He could hear the word resonate inside his head, but his ears... they felt at the same time stuffed with cotton wool and rubbed raw. There was a strange pressure that was almost painful and that seemed to be closely connected with his headache.

Now Charlie realized what really woke him up. Not just the buzzing sound... which was still present... but also the pain. His back hurt as if someone had trampled over him. With a grimace, Charlie tried to finish his move and turn to the side to relieve the pressure on his back, but had to stop once again. The move had awoken the pain in his leg and he also became aware of the arm and the heavy, cumbersome cast. There was no way he could get into a comfortable position anytime soon it seemed.

Giving up, Charlie let himself sink back into the hospital bed. Yes, he was in a hospital... after blowing up a house. His memories had returned rather quickly even though Charlie wished they could've stayed hidden just a moment longer.

Charlie let out another groan, one hand reaching up towards his head to assess the situation. There was no bandage there, which was a good sing in his opinion. On the other hand... he brushed his fingers against his right ear, then snapped them.

Nothing.

Charlie swallowed down the sudden nausea. There was no sound... or not loud enough to penetrate the cotton inside his head. Charlie bit at his bottom lip and tried again, this time on the left side. He thought maybe he heard something, but that could've been just the beat of his own heart. He heard  _that_  at least, loud and clear. Charlie snapped his fingers again. There. Was it a sound? Or was it just the movement of the air he felt?

Charlie closed his eyes, focusing only on the sounds.

He snapped his fingers the third time... then yelped.

Someone had just grabbed his hand.

Charlie's eyes shot open, breathing quick as he looked at whoever managed to get this close without him noticing. He blinked as his eyes focused on the familiar face, then let out a sigh of relief.

"Boss?" he asked in disbelief. "What're you doing here?"

Matthew Lawson was standing next to his bed, Charlie's arm still in his grip until Charlie relented and let his hand fall back to his side. Lawson's mouth moved and Charlie could've sworn he caught at least something... a hint of a voice? A tone?

Charlie frowned and shook his head.

"I... I can't hear you," he said and it felt like the hardest thing to admit.

Lawson didn't seem surprised, he just winced a bit and looked towards the door as if checking if someone wasn't coming in. But the door stayed still and Lawson turned back. His hand moved in a gesture that clearly meant 'lower the volume'.

Charlie blushed. He didn't realize he was speaking loudly. He was just trying to compensate and make sure Lawson understood him. But now he felt as if he was making a fool of himself instead. So he bit at his lip and gave a small nod.

Lawson sighed, then spoke his name.

"Sorry," he muttered or maybe even whispered. Lawson didn't protest this time so Charlie supposed he used a silent enough voice.

'That's okay,' Lawson mouthed and Charlie gave a small nod. He was trying to focus on Lawson because he didn't want to miss whatever the man was here to say. But at the same time he just had to look around, eyes searching for another person.

There was no one else. Charlie couldn't help the pang of disappointment and worry he felt inside his chest.

"Blake?" he asked and hoped his voice didn't shake.

'Home,' Lawson mouthed then paused. It was clear he wanted to say more but wasn't sure how well Charlie could follow. Charlie understood his reluctance to speak, but he also needed answers because the last clear memory of Blake he had was the moments before the explosion. Everything afterwards seemed to be a blur. Charlie knew that Blake was alive, that he was possibly in better condition than himself, but that was about it. And the fact he wasn't there to explain things let Charlie know that something was wrong.

"Is he okay?" Charlie asked with a frown.

Lawson nodded with only a slight hesitation.

"Boss?" Charlie pressed and he could just imagine the sound of Lawson's sigh.

'Not hurt,' Charlie read the lips and let out a relieved sigh. While that was a somehow evasive answer, right now it would have to be enough. There was no way Charlie could focus enough to pressure Lawson for an explanation.

"What's the time?"

Lawson looked at his watch and seemed a bit surprised himself.

'Ten.' He muttered something, but Charlie didn't catch it. Well, at least it explained the darkness and why Blake was home. It was late enough to be hanging out at the hospital with someone who wasn't actively dying. Which begged the question...

"Why're you here, boss?"

Not that Charlie was complaining. He shuddered at the mere thought of waking up without a familiar face around to let him know what happened.

Lawson just shrugged, then mouthed: 'Blake' as if that explained everything.

"You were just worried, right?" he asked, trying to ease the mood. Because there was nothing better than to hassle the boss in the middle of the night in one's hospital room after screwing up at the job. Lawson's frowning face was an answer enough.

'Watch it, Davis,' Lawson said and Charlie grinned. Maybe he could hassle the man a bit more, make him admit he cared at least. If anything, he could always use the excuse of being under the effect of pain medication.

Or maybe not. His left arm was throbbing and Charlie moved, trying to take some pressure off of his back. He must've pulled a muscle or ten when he was thrown against the stairs by the blast... he just couldn't find a comfortable position.

Charlie wasn't aware that he made any sound but he must've, because Lawson tensed and put a hand on his shoulder to stop him from moving around.

'You okay?'

Charlie blinked, confused by the sudden worry in the man's eyes. Maybe he just imagined it.

"Yeah, boss," he answered, hoping his voice didn't give away the lie. But Lawson wasn't a cop for his friendly mug. His eyes narrowed in warning. He said something but all Charlie caught was the word 'nurse'... or was it 'curse'? Seeing as Lawson was turning to leave, it was probably the first. Charlie reached out with his good hand and stopped the man.

"Boss!"

Lawson looked at him, the worry now clear.

"I'm fine." He wasn't sure why he said that. In truth, the idea of getting some drugs to stop the pain and help him sleep sounded rather nice. But at the same time, he didn't want to fall back into the dark void. Or worse. Be left alone with his treacherous mind.

Lawson had a doubtful look on his face, but didn't leave at least. Instead he pulled the chair he was occupying earlier closer to Charlie's bed and sat down.

'Few more minutes. Then I'm leaving.'

Charlie understood that. The buzzing got a little bit stronger and his headache was making it harder to focus on Lawson's face, but as the man sat so close, Charlie thought he could almost make out the tone of his voice. Almost.

It gave him hope. He still didn't dare to ask though.

"Was... was anyone else hurt?"

Lawson shook his head.

"Thank God," Charlie muttered and noted the deepening frown on Lawson's face. The man pointed at him, almost angrily, then at his casted arm and raised an eyebrow as if in challenge. Charlie knew it was a reproach, and he was quite sure that if his hearing returned, he will get his ears chewed off. He could already imagine Lawson calling him an irresponsible fool for going down there without notifying anyone, for triggering the explosion...

"I'm sorry, boss," Charlie said and he meant it. His gut was telling him back there to turn and call for the others. But then... maybe someone else would've triggered the trap while there were more people in the bunker. Charlie didn't even want to imagine the damage that could've caused. He knew the only reason he was alive and still with his limbs more or less intact was because he was on his way out and there was no one in his way. If he'd stayed in the small room... Charlie shuddered, then winced at the pain the small movement caused in his muscles.

'We'll talk about it later,' Lawson promised.

Charlie couldn't wait. He sighed.

"The case?"

'No news and you're off duty,' Lawson said, though there was a smirk on his face that said he wouldn't tell Charlie even if they'd already solved it. Just a bit of petty revenge for the night. Charlie almost rolled his eyes, then grimaced. Yes, he was most definitely off duty. Even if his hearing miraculously returned overnight, the cast on his left arm would keep him off the street... even off desk duty, seeing as it was his writing hand.

Charlie felt a sudden sense of sadness and dread. He was practically useless at the moment. He couldn't work... couldn't offer any help. What was worse, if his current state was anything to go by, he would actually need some help himself.

The dawning realization must've shown on his face because Lawson gave him a questioning look and tapped his shoulder, trying to catch his attention.

'Alright?'

Charlie shrugged, too tired to try and lie. Lawson shot a look towards the door, but the corridor was still empty. He seemed a bit disgruntled by that. He looked as if he was wondering whether to try and somehow console Charlie or go for the nurse.

"It's okay, boss," Charlie said, obviously startling him. "Just hate being laid up."

At that, Lawson snorted then pointed to his own limp leg, as if to say 'you're telling  _me?'_

Charlie had the decency to look away in embarrassment. Of course. How could he forget the leg? After all, Lawson got hurt because of him. And what for... only for Charlie to screw up a few years later and end his own career by going deaf?

Charlie was quickly spiralling down a dark path of thoughts, exactly what he was worried about if left alone. But he wasn't alone yet. Lawson reached out and softly tapped his cheek.

'Hey. Stop it!' The order was clear and Charlie took in a deep breath, realizing he was working himself up. In the presence of the man he didn't want to lose the respect of. Just great.

He muttered another sorry, getting a shake of head in reply and a sigh.

'You need sleep. As do I.'

Charlie bit at his bottom lip, then gave a reluctant nod. There was no reason to keep Lawson here any longer. They couldn't really have a proper conversation. It was late at night and really... did Charlie want to have a mental breakdown in front of his boss? Definitely not.

'I'll get a nurse and head home.'

"Okay," Charlie said, then cleared his throat. He was sure his voice was a bit choked, but Lawson didn't let on. Charlie appreciated that.

The man had left the room and Charlie wanted to just close his eyes and pretend none of this happened. Pretend that he was back in his room at Blake's house and the buzzing was indeed coming from a few bees trapped inside his room. He wanted to just relax and fall asleep, but he couldn't. Because in a short while there would be some stranger entering his room, most likely trying to get his attention. While Charlie knew there was no threat, he still felt vulnerable. Stuck in a bed, barely able to move. Closing his eyes right now just meant letting go of his sense of sight, the only other warning he had. He wasn't ready for that.

So when his eyes slipped closed on their own volition, Charlie made an effort to move. The ensuing jolt of pain was enough to keep him awake until Lawson returned with an elderly, brusque looking nurse. Charlie swallowed. Just his luck to get caught in the hospital with someone who wouldn't take any bullshit. He could see that right away.

The nurse didn't play around. She took his vitals, fluffed up his pillows and watched him swallow down a couple of pills with some water. All that without more than a few words. Well, at least she was well aware of his situation and knew any chatter would be useless. Or maybe she was just the silent type, who knew. During this, Charlie threw a pleading glance towards Lawson a few times, as if the man could rescue him. Lawson only smirked.

Charlie grimaced, especially when the nurse pulled the blanket up almost to his chin and practically tucked him in. Charlie could swear Lawson was chuckling at his feeble protests, but he had no proof. Finally the nurse gave Charlie a warning glare, as if daring him to put even a foot out of the bed. Not that it was a possibility. With the way she tucked him in, Charlie could barely move a finger. Though he must admit she somehow managed to turn him in such a way that took a bit of the pressure of his back. Or maybe the pills started working.

Whatever the case, Charlie had no notion of moving anytime soon. He felt his eyes slipping closed. He felt a pat on his good foot and blinked to see Lawson looking at him fondly.

Charlie thought he might've been hallucinating. His eyes closed again and this time they didn't open even as he was finally left alone for the night.


	3. Chapter 3

Charlie  _hated_ hospitals. He was aware that most people felt that way and it wasn't the hospital's fault. People needed help and this was the place where they got it. Charlie's logical part knew that very well and it was this part that stopped him from being a pain in the ass to the nurses and the occasional doctor that made an appearance. But it did nothing to stop his kneejerk reaction and the sudden adrenaline rush every damn time that someone had entered the room and touched him, without him first noticing their presence.

Charlie was never this skittish before. He knew there was no logical reason to be afraid. No one was trying to hurt him. But he still felt uneasy and threatened and slipping his eyes closed just meant losing control of his surroundings. It was not easy to do.

The night wasn't kind to Charlie. Once he fell asleep as Lawson left, his sleep was disturbed with nightmares. Having the nurse check in occasionally also meant he startled out of sleep once or twice and when the morning came he felt anything but rested. And the damn buzzing still didn't leave.

The visit from his admitting doctor also didn't help his mood. After some prodding, Charlie asked if his hearing would return. The doctor looked into his papers, then back at Charlie and shrugged.

"We have to wait and see."

That was all the answer he got. Not even how long or what where his chances. Just wait and see. The doctor's parting advice was to rest and that maybe they would be able to release him in a day or two if there were no complications. Charlie wanted to ask what complications he could be expecting, but the man was already gone and the nurse only gave him a sympathetic smile, handed him the prescribed medication and left as well.

Charlie wanted to smack his head against the pillow but thought even that might hurt. He had learned the hard way that any sudden movements cost him when he attempted to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night. He could have dealt with the pain in his leg or even the muscle spasms his back had to suffer as he managed to get into a sitting position, ready to stand up. What he couldn't deal with was the sudden wave of dizziness and the ensuing nausea.

Charlie felt his face turning bright red even now at the memory. He was so dizzy he had to wait for a nurse to pass by the corridor and check in on him, just to chide him out for trying to get up unassisted. The following fifteen minutes of the nurse trying to clean up the mess that was probably his breakfast and get him into clean clothes were better forgotten. No... he didn't need that, thank you very much.

All Charlie wanted was to go home, snuggle up in his own bed and sleep for the next week. All he wanted was for Blake to appear in the door and tell him to get up, that the car is waiting.

But when the door opened next, it was to Rose. She was bringing chocolate and a look of concern and worry, even though she tried to hide it. Charlie felt a twinge of fear. Did she know something he didn't?

"Hey," he spoke, carefully watching her face to make sure he wasn't using too loud a voice. She didn't startle or cringe, so that was good.

'Hey,' she said and Charlie thought he caught some of that, at least on one side. He turned his head slightly and smiled, encouraging her to come closer. He wanted her to talk so he could listen.

'Are you okay?' she asked and Charlie frowned. He must've imagined the sound the first time. His right hand reached up towards his ear and he rubbed at it, fighting the urge to shake his head and try to blow his nose. He was warned from both, even sneezing. Rose reached up and took the hand in hers and Charlie didn't protest. Her hands were warm and she looked at him in such a way that for a moment his fears slipped into the background.

"What are you doing here?" he asked and she rolled her eyes. Her mouth moved and for the first time he had an absolutely legitimate reason to watch it with all his attention. But he couldn't. Rose could talk up a storm and for some reason he was more attracted to her eyes. Until she squeezed the hand still resting in her grasp.

'Charlie?'

"Sorry. It's hard to... listen right now," he admitted and instantly regretted it when he saw the look of guilt on her face. "It's fine, just..." Charlie faded off. What was there to say anyway?

Rose gave his hand another squeeze, this one in obvious support. Charlie squeezed back.

"Any news on the case?"

Rose pursed her lips then shook her head.

'Waiting for autopsy.'

Of course. That made sense. That might've also been the reason why Charlie had yet to see Blake. The man was serious about his work and if there was an autopsy happening, he would surely be there. Charlie felt some of the tension leave his shoulders. For some reason he had the strange feeling that Blake hasn't appeared because of something Charlie did. Either he was angry at Charlie for causing the explosion... or he knew more than Charlie's own doctor was ready to admit and just didn't want to face him. Charlie swallowed his doubts. No. Blake's absence had a logical explanation. He was just busy working.

Charlie's conviction lasted all through the day, though by mid afternoon it was seriously lacking in strength. He was already visited by Lawson and even Bill Hobart made an appearance, though it was under a pretence of an interview. Which he gave up very quickly when Charlie, already annoyed from the fact he had to lie there doing nothing, had pointed to his head and in a rather loud voice said: "What? I can't hear you!"

Hobart quickly recoiled and put the notebook back in his pocket. He wished Charlie a speedy recovery and was out the door before Charlie could start chuckling. The look on his face might've kept Charlie in good spirits for all of five minutes. Until he tried to turn and find some comfortable position and once again could only wince. With nothing else to do, he closed his eyes and let himself drift off to sleep.

There was someone else in the room.

He didn't hear it... well, there was the familiar buzzing and maybe some other noise in the background, far far away. Behind a thick cotton wall. No, it was more of a feeling of being watched that brought Charlie back to consciousness.

He blinked and turned his head, looking around the room, until his eyes settled on a friendly face. Jean. She was sitting there, looking up from what seemed to be a half knitted sock. When she noted his open eyes, she smiled and put away the knitting. Charlie smiled back.

'Nice to see you awake,' she said and Charlie sighed, rubbing at his eyes.

"Sorry. Didn't sleep well last night," he admitted. She nodded in understanding, then came over to him and gave him a gentle hug.

'I'm glad you're alright.'

Charlie swallowed, nodding. Then he looked around, as if expecting another person in the room.

"The Doc?" he asked and saw the momentary surprise on her face. She tried to cover it up, but Charlie wasn't fooled.

"What's wrong?"

Jean shook her head and her jaw clenched. Charlie frowned, knowing that something wasn't right.

'He'll stop by later,' she mouthed but Charlie felt it wasn't enough. He could understand Blake being busy, but there must've been something else for Jean to react the way she did. For the unhappy look flashing through her face before she could cover it up.

"Jean? Please. Is... is he angry with me?" Charlie asked the question that was in the forefront of his mind. That had to be it, right? Blake was pissed for some reason. Why else would he keep away from Charlie?

'What? Of course not!' the look of surprise on Jean's face was genuine.

Charlie frowned.

"Then what? I haven't seen him since... since it happened," Charlie said and was aware he might've been sounding like a whining, needy brat. But he was past caring. He had spent the whole day thinking about what happened, but most of all, what it meant for his future. He kept all these hours fretting over the possibility that his career was over. That his livelihood was gone and that there will be no way for him to support his family. Or the fact that he would be useless to the police force, useless to Blake and would have to leave the house, leave town. Like a dog, with tails between his legs. Go back to Melbourne and tell his mother to go ahead, marry that bastard of a man his father had put into prison, because he won't be able to provide for her anymore. Look into his brother's eyes and tell him he was right all along.

Those were the thoughts that were running through his head all day long, thoughts he didn't dare to voice out loud to anyone. The only person he felt who might've dissuaded the dark clouds hanging over his head was the only person that didn't show up.

Charlie felt tears spring into his eyes and he rubbed at them, cursing himself a fool. He shouldn't be this emotional. He shouldn't feel this scared over something so stupid.

Jean touched his cheek and Charlie looked up sheepishly.

She had been talking to him, he knew. But he didn't catch any of it, because he was too busy feeling sorry for himself. Too busy brushing the tears away from his eyes.

"S-sorry. I...I didn't catch that," he muttered.

'It's alright. Here... give me a second'. Jean turned away and started looking through her purse. Charlie used the moment to pull himself together. Crying in front of Jean was the last thing he wanted to do. When she turned around, she had a satisfied look on her face and a piece of paper and pen in her hand. Charlie couldn't help but smile a little.

She saw his approval and started scribbling on the paper, then handed it over to Charlie. He squinted at the small but rather pretty writing and read the text.

'Lucien could never be angry with you,' it said and Charlie grimaced, because that wasn't true. He remembered quite vividly how mad Blake got when he thought Charlie was the one behind his missing letters. Jean gave Charlie's hand a light tap, rolling her eyes, then pointing for him to continue reading.

'He has some personal issues he needs to deal with first and thought it would be better not to burden you with them. And once the whiskey works out of his system, he has patients to attend to that he missed yesterday and a case to solve. But he will stop by as soon as possible.'

Charlie read the note two more times, frowning. While it told him Blake wasn't mad at him, it also gave him clues that Blake wasn't well. If Jean mentioned the whiskey, it meant the doc probably got hammered last night. Charlie couldn't imagine what could've caused that.

"Is he okay?" he asked and Jean just sighed.

'He will be,' she reassured him then took the paper back to write more.

'What about you? Do you need anything? If you need him here, I'll haul him by the neck of his shirt if necessary.'

Charlie read that and chuckled.

"I would love to see that, but... no. Thanks." He would rather Blake dealt with whatever was bothering him. While Charlie could've used his presence, the man had his own demons. And wanting to see him was partially selfish, Charlie knew. He wanted the reassurance of seeing the doc in one piece, make sure that his recklessness didn't hurt anyone else. Maybe even thank the man, because after all, he tried to save him. Charlie was also pretty sure Blake did everything to keep him calm until he was taken care of. He wanted to thank him, that was all.

'Anything you need me to bring here?' Jean asked and Charlie grimaced.

"I'd rather get out of here," he admitted. Jean patted him on the hand.

'You will soon.'

Then she remembered something and grabbed the paper again.

'I tried to call your mother, but she didn't pick up. I will try again tonight, alright?'

Charlie looked at the paper, biting into his bottom lip.

"No!" he said a little bit more harshly than he wanted. Jean winced in surprise. "Sorry. I just... I don't want her to worry," Charlie explained at her questioning look.

'She should know...'

Charlie shook his head, then instantly regretted it as the room seemed to spun around. He took a moment, closing his eyes to let the world settle around him and taking a few deeper breaths. Jean was running her hand up and down his arm in an attempt at comfort. When he opened his eyes, he could see her worried blue eyes watching him.

"I'm fine, just dizzy," he reassured her. "Please... don't call mom. She... she's out of town with Ray... some boxing match." Charlie couldn't remember which town they were supposed to be at, but it didn't matter. He definitely didn't want his family to know about any of this... not yet anyway.

'Alright, I won't. I promise,' Jean reassured him and Charlie leaned back, giving a slight nod of thanks. He was hoping his hearing would return before his mother thought of calling him.

Jean had spent another half hour by his side, trying to distract him from everything. Then she packed up her knitting, telling him she needed to go and make dinner. Make sure Lucien had at least something healthy to eat. She leaned down and gave him a kiss on the cheek, then brushed a stray hair off his forehead.

'Feel better soon, Charlie. I'll make sure to cook you something you like when you come home.'

He caught a look of resolve in Jean's eyes as she turned and left and wondered just what it meant, but knew better than to question it. The woman was on a mission, and Charlie had long ago learned not to get involved.

* * *

Lucien regretted every damn drop of whiskey he had drunk last night. While it might've silenced his demons for the night, the morning hangover truly wasn't worth it. His mouth felt like something died there and his head was ringing worse than when the blasted grenade went off. And it didn't seem to be going away. The fact he fell asleep on the couch in his office in the most uncomfortable position didn't help his disposition any, and so when Jean knocked on the door a few minutes later, he only grumbled a short 'Morning'.

Thanks to heavens, Jean was an angel sent from heaven and she came bearing gifts. So Lucien had a cup of scalding hot coffee before he even made it to the shower. It took a bit of time, but by eight in the morning he felt almost human.

After luring him from the office with the coffee and a plate of breakfast in the kitchen, Jean left him to his own devices. Blake ate the breakfast in silence, even accepted the aspirin Jean pushed towards him with the glass of water. He only grabbed her hand as she passed and gave it a thankful squeeze. She smiled.

"What are your plans for today?" she asked and Blake thought about it. There were so many things to do, yet he felt drained. But spending the day wallowing at home was never the answer for him and he knew that it would only make things worse. Having too much time thinking wasn't doing him any favours.

"I'll stop by at the hospital, check on Charlie. Then I have an autopsy to conduct and a case to solve."

"And don't forget the two patients I had to reschedule?" Jean reminded him and Blake nodded with a sigh.

"Of course."

Blake stood up and went to grab his keys.

"Tell Charlie I said hi? I might stop by later today on my way from the post office."

"Will do," Blake said with a smile then walked out of the house.

It was funny how his mind worked.

He felt fine most of the morning, he even walked into the hospital. But the moment the smell of disinfectant hit him, Blake felt his stomach twist. He wasn't sure why. He had spent a lot of time in these halls, around sick people. The smells were familiar, common to him. There was no reason why suddenly they made him think of a different place and time.

Maybe it was just the after-effect of the last days events. Maybe he hit his head harder than he thought, or the alcohol he drank was still in his system. Blake walked up to the head nurse and made a quick inquiry about Charlie's state. He was handed his chart and although Charlie seemed to have a restless night, there was nothing indicating further trouble. Blake let out a sigh of relief, thanked the nurse and headed towards Charlie's room.

When he entered the room, Charlie was asleep. Blake knew sleep was the best thing for him right now so he was hesitant to wake him up. Maybe he could just sit down for a minute and wait. The rounds would start soon and Charlie would be woken up anyway.

Blake settled on the chair and let his mind wander a bit, even as he was looking at Charlie's sleeping form. The boy looked much younger this way. Hair rumpled, face relaxed. The cast on his arm looked to be too big and Blake cringed, knowing what an inconvenience it would be for Charlie, especially as it was his dominant hand.

Somewhere near a door slammed shut and Blake jumped on his seat, the sound making his heart speed up momentarily. Charlie didn't even stir.

Blake frowned, then took a calming breath, cursing himself. He shouldn't act so skittish. If anyone had a reason to be affected by the accident, it was Charlie. Blake could just imagine him waking up, opening those blue eyes and casting an accusing look his way. Because he should have warned him sooner. Because he should've done more...

Blake blinked.

The blue eyes he saw didn't belong to Charlie. They belonged to a young soldier that died in a field because of a faulty grenade. Blake couldn't do a thing to save him... only put pressure on the wound and repeat over and over that it will be alright. That he had nothing to fear.

Blake hated lying.

He hated seeing the life leaving those eyes even more.

But he wasn't in the field, there were no bombs flying over his head. He was in Ballarat, in a hospital he knew so well. He shouldn't feel the crawling nausea or the tightness spreading through his chest.

Blake shook his head and rose from the chair so quickly it wobbled and fell over. The sound once again made him jump. This time, the figure in the bed did stir. A frown appeared on Charlie's face and his hand moved involuntarily, head turning slightly towards the sound.

Blake opened his mouth, then shut it closed. He wanted to step closer to the bed, to be there when Charlie woke up and reassure him that everything would be alright. But even just the thought of saying those words... to seeing another set of blue eyes looking at him with confusion and fear was too much. Blake turned and fled.

The air outside smelled of freshly cut grass and some flower Jean would know but Blake couldn't even name. He gulped down the air and felt like a coward, but knew he couldn't go back right now. Maybe later in the day, when Charlie was already awake... maybe if he tagged along with someone else it would be enough to chase away the shadows of the past.

Until then, he had a case to solve. The simple thought of the case caused the flutters in his stomach to ease and Blake headed towards the morgue. He was sure Alice already did some preliminary examination, but he was hoping she would have waited with the autopsy for him.

As luck had it, she indeed did hold off, if just because there was another body she had to take care of first. This one was a straightforward stabbing in a pub brawl and Blake frowned a bit when he realized that Lawson didn't call him for this one because he most likely didn't think he was up to it. Or the culprits were obvious and Matthew just decided not to bother him, as Alice informed him a moment later.

Blake took the information in, still not happy about the idea that Lawson saw him in his most vulnerable state. He decided then and there that he would make sure to talk with the man, to show him he was fine and the little meltdown at the hospital was just a onetime thing. Nothing to worry about. And the best way to do it was to figure out what really happened to Marty Hanson.

* * *

The autopsy of Marty Hanson gave a surprising result, or maybe not so much given in what state his body was found in. After an hour or two of examining the body, weighing the organs and looking at evidence, both Blake and Alice Harvey concluded that the man did indeed die of an heart attack. The wound on his head was caused by the fall as he was possibly attempting to call for help.

It was a rather un-cathartic ending to a case and Blake spent another half hour going over the results in an attempt to maybe find a sign that the heart attack wasn't of natural causes, but Alice pointed out Hanson's liver affected by heavy drinking, the clogged arteries and overall state of non-healthy living.

Lucien couldn't help but agree with the results. He put together a report and took it to the police station. Lawson just nodded at him, accepting the explanation behind the death with some relief. They had more than enough work with other cases and even though there didn't seem to be any culprit behind Marty Hanson's death, they still had to catalogue every piece of shotgun and bullet found on his property.

"It's a bloody mess, Lucien," Lawson sighed, putting the report on the table. "I have a full crew on site along with a fire brigade on standby and a pyrotechnic. And Hanson's sons weren't any more help in finding out where he got the weapons from."

"What about the chemicals in the shed?"

Lawson waved it off.

"Nitrates... used for gardening. He bought them in bulk it seems... even though he couldn't care less for the garden he had. The grass there haven't seen a lawn mower for quite some time."

Blake nodded, trying to figure out whether Hanson was truly just paranoid or he had some enemies no one knew about. Even though with the autopsy results the case was as good as closed, but Blake just didn't want to accept that a man would be so deluded without reason.

Of course there was the nagging thought in the back of his mind that Marty had a reason for his paranoia... and that was his experiences during the war. Blake shuddered at the thought what could become of a man if there was nothing left tethering him to the present.

"By the way... I've stopped to see Charlie this morning," Lawson interrupted his thoughts and Blake raised his head.

"Yes?"

"He was asking about you." Lawson said it in a normal tone, but Blake could sense the questioning undertone.

"I've seen him this morning, but he was still asleep. Didn't want to wake him up unnecessarily."

Lawson hummed, accepting his answer, though not without a frown.

"Any idea how long he will be out of commission?"

Blake grimaced. That was a question he wasn't really able to answer and one of the reasons why he fled the hospital before Charlie could properly wake up.

"I suppose the arm will keep him away for at least four weeks. Anything else... we will see in time."

That was a delicate way to say 'I don't know'.

Lawson sighed and shook his head.

"Damn shame. I hope this won't ruin his career."

Blake instantly felt on the defensive.

"Whatever happens, we can work it out. Charlie's smart."

"Well, going into an unsecured room without informing anyone else wasn't exactly the smartest thing to do," Lawson reiterated and Blake felt his ire go up on Charlie's behalf.

"As if you wouldn't have done the same," Blake scoffed. "Not to mention... if more people had been there, the worse the damage could've been. Don't put this on Charlie."

Lawson's lips pursed and Blake realized he was trying not to smile. He frowned.

"I hope you will tell him just that when he brings it up," Lawson said and Blake paused. "Because he needs to hear it from someone he trusts. And for some stupid reason, right now that's you."

Blake didn't know what to say to that. Luckily he didn't have to say anything, because just then the phone on Lawson's desk rang. While Lawson was busy answering the call, Blake excused himself with a wave of a hand, then headed home. Where he found an empty house with a note on the kitchen table telling him that lunch was in the oven. Jean went off to town to visit Charlie and one of her old church friends. She reminded him not to forget his patient appointments and not to let their second patient drag in his dog, because she just vacuumed. Blake smiled and pulled a still warm plate of meatloaf and potatoes from the oven. What would he even do without Jean? That woman was a Saint.

Or the devil, he thought several hours later when Blake finished all his appointments and found Jean standing in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest and a rather reproachful gaze aimed his way.

"What?" he asked, taken aback. "What did I do?"

And just like that Jean's stance eased up and she walked up to his desk. Blake looked up at her, confused but also a bit amused when she settled herself on the edge of his desk, like a teacher scolding a pupil.

"I thought you went to see Charlie this morning," she spoke and Blake nodded.

"I did. But according to the nurse he didn't get much sleep during the night, so I let him sleep." There. It was only a partial lie. Though based on the look on Jean's face she saw right through it.

She sighed and reached out and Blake took her hand in his. They were at the point when they acknowledged each other's feelings but were still wary of showing them off, at least in public. Inside the house, without anyone around, it was a bit different matter and Lucien pulled the delicate hand towards his lips, giving it a light kiss. Something between a smile and a frown passed through Jean's face.

"What's the real reason you didn't want to talk to him?" she asked, knowingly and Blake sighed, giving her hand a squeeze then leaning back in his chair.

"It's really not about Charlie," he spoke after a moment, acknowledging that there was a problem at last. "Just... bad memories."

Jean looked him in the eyes searchingly... then slowly nodded, her whole demeanour changing. Until now, she was acting like a protective mother and Blake wondered if she even realized that. And how astounding it was, given that just months ago she was wary to even let Charlie move into the house. So many things had changed however.

"I'm here if you need me, Lucien," she said softly and ran her hand over his cheek. "But whatever you are dealing with... don't ignore Charlie. He is battling his own demons right now as well."

Blake frowned, not sure what she meant, even though a small voice inside his head nudged at him knowingly.

"I won't," he promised, already planning on a visit next day. Maybe even bringing Charlie home. That would make things just a bit easier to deal with after all.

* * *

The last two days had passed by in a slow crawl, at least to Charlie. His hearing started to return on the second day after the explosion and Charlie felt like the weight of the world had fallen from his shoulders. He spent the previous night wide awake, his mind plagued by thoughts of his future. By the possibility he would have to stop doing the only job he thought of ever since he was six and his father put a police hat on his head and let him play coppers and robbers using his shield. Ever since, Charlie dreamed of becoming a cop... a feeling that only intensified after his father died. But what kind of a cop he can be if he couldn't hear a call for help, if he couldn't even pick up the phone. Barely even take a witness statement.

Charlie was tossing and turning, his stomach twisted and hurting at the mere thought of having to give up his dream. Unable to support his mother and family any longer, Ray's words would've come true. He as good as left them alone.

Finally he managed to fall asleep despite his fretting and the reward for that was a surprising awakening.

Voices.

Charlie blinked his eyes open and saw two figures at the other side of the room, seemingly caught in some type of discussion. Charlie frowned. He was just about to let them know how much he didn't appreciate being woken up by chatter, when he realized it. What woke him was the  _sound_  of voices. He let out a gasp and moved to sit himself up a bit, to make sure it wasn't just his imagination.

"Charlie? You alright there?" It was Blake and even though Charlie heard him as if through water and several layers of cotton, he did hear and even managed to make out most of the words.

"I... I think I can hear you?" he said uncertainly and watched as both Blake and Jean walked up to his bed with smiles on their faces.

"That's wonderful!" Jean said and Charlie cringed a bit, because her voice sounded different and he still had to pay attention to her mouth.

"Indeed it is," Blake added with a smile and patted Charlie on the shoulder. Charlie nodded, feeling like he could cry.

"Can you... can you talk a bit louder?" he asked, wondering if it would change the intensity of the words.

"Of course. We need to test it out, right?"

And for a while they did. Blake was trying speaking in softer and louder tones and Charlie was trying to guess what he was saying while attempting not to lurk and watch the man's mouth as a form of cheating. The hearing wasn't one hundred percent back, far from it, but the fact it came back this soon was positive, as Charlie was told. It was a sign the eardrums were healing and he could possibly regain full hearing.

"Thank God for that," Charlie muttered and saw Blake give a small nod. Something was strange about the man. While on the outside he appeared normal, Charlie noted the tension in his shoulders. The fact he flinched when a patient nearby screamed with pain. Charlie knew there was a problem but couldn't figure out what it was exactly. The Doc had seen much worse things and came out alright. He wasn't even hurt physically, at least not to Charlie's knowledge.

But when Charlie tried to ask, Blake just waved him off with a forced smile, saying everything was alright.

The circles under his eyes spoke a different story, but Charlie let it rest. At least for the time being. He found out that trying to follow two people was a bit problematic, especially as he was trying to sit up straight in the bed. Jean helped prop him up, but as Charlie still needed to focus on their faces, skipping between Blake and Jean became tiresome fast. He needed to take a break so he closed his eyes and rubbed at the bridge of his nose, trying to chase away the pressure inside his skull.

Of course Blake noticed this and was quick to jump at the chance to leave. He patted the blanket over Charlie's leg and said they should let him rest. Charlie tried to protest, but he broke out in a yawn. Jean smiled and reassured him they will be back soon.

"To spring you out of here," Blake added and Charlie couldn't but smile in agreement.

And true to Blake's words, Charlie was heading home that evening.

* * *

The silence of the room was driving him crazy. The skin under the cast was starting to itch and the buzzing sound was giving Charlie a headache. He fondly thought back to the afternoon when he fell asleep on the couch, soothed by the sounds coming from the kitchen as Jean was preparing dinner, of Blake reading from the newspaper and occasionally reacting to the gossip column with an affronted comment. The radio was playing too and the buzzing got lost in the background. The best sleep Charlie had in days. Unfortunately, it also seemed to be the nap that stole from his night. Try as he might, he spent half the night tossing and turning in the bed. While it was no fun during normal night, moving around with bruises all over his body was outright painful now.

With a resigned sigh Charlie slowly sat up on the bed and waited. He had learned from the last few days to make any change in position slowly, least he got a dizzy spell. While his hearing was slowly coming back, there was still some difference in the pressure inside his head and he was prone to dizziness and balance issues. Blake assured him it should all fix up right along his ears and Charlie really wanted to believe him.

So once the room settled and Charlie located the cane the Doc insisted he use so as not to pop the stitches in his leg, Charlie slowly made it into an upright position. His eyes were at least used to the darkness so he shuffled into the hall, hoping he wasn't making too much noise. He still had trouble ascertaining that and while during the day the cane hitting the wooden floor wasn't a problem, in the silence of the night it was making a rather surprising noise. Charlie paused for a moment, unsure where he even wanted to go or what he wanted to do.

If there had been anything on the telly he would have opted for the couch in the living room, but it was too late for any broadcast. The radio was his second option, and Charlie was seriously contemplating it, but he worried the sound might wake up Jean or the Doc. And that would mean worried questions of why he couldn't sleep. With a sigh, Charlie decided to brave the stairs and head to the kitchen. If nothing else, he could make himself a hot cup of tea and maybe use some of the cutlery to scratch the itch under the cast. He already tried to use Jean's knitting needles for that, but after she caught him, she deftly hid them inside her room with a reproachful gaze.

Charlie's mind was on anything slim and pointy and long enough to reach as he passed the hall, limping in a close approximation of Matthew Lawson after his accident. He was almost at the first stair, wondering if it was smart to try and go down in the darkness especially with his balance issues, when he saw a sliver of light coming from under the door of the Doc's study room. Charlie frowned.

He was pretty sure Blake said he was heading to bed early. Charlie didn't think he meant early in the morning though. Biting on his lip, Charlie weighed how much he wanted to risk Blake inquiring about his state of mind versus how much he wanted to make sure the Doc was alright. Because the last few days the man was acting strange. Well, a bit more strange than usual, Charlie thought with a grimace.

Ever since Charlie came back home, Blake looked tired and... a bit haunted. It was as if the man hadn't slept more than an hour or two a night. Charlie also noticed Blake seemed to tense at sudden noises. What was the strangest and most irritating thing though, at least for Charlie, was how the man refused to look him in the eye. Every time their gazes locked, even by accident, Blake was quick to look away. Charlie thought he saw a glint of regret in Blake's gaze, but he truly wasn't sure whom it belonged to. Charlie didn't think Blake had anything to be sorry about where he was concerned.

With a sigh, Charlie decided this was as good a time as ever to try and find out what was the problem. At least it would take his mind off the irritating buzzing and the itch. Or maybe Blake would have something that could help with that.

Charlie knocked at the door softly before pushing it open a bit. He didn't want to disturb the man in case he managed to fall asleep with the lights on. But Blake wasn't asleep. In fact, he looked wide awake, obviously caught in the middle of a reorganization. Either that or someone had managed to sneak in and rob them.

Charlie raised an eyebrow, pausing at the door. Blake looked up from his desk, which currently looked like a stockpile of a hoarder.

"Hey, Doc," Charlie spoke a bit hesitantly. Blake's eyes focused on him and the man stood.

"Charlie! What's the matter? You should be in bed, fast asleep."

"I was about to ask you the same?"

They both paused, then Blake snorted, running a hand over his weary face.

"Why don't you come in? Sit down, please."

Charlie looked around, hoping to find some place that wasn't covered in files and newspaper articles or books. Blake noticed his conundrum and quickly moved two boxes from the couch. Charlie gave a nod of thanks and limped over, letting out a sigh of relief at sitting down. Despite the fact he was feeling better than right after the explosion, standing or staying in an upright position for a prolonged time was still uncomfortable for him. He tried to keep weight off his right leg while at the same time the cast on his left arm was making it harder to move around. Throw in a bit of balance problem caused by the injury to his ears and the concussion and Charlie felt well and truly unbalanced most of the time.

Blake was watching him as he settled and Charlie couldn't help the annoyed sigh escaping as Blake's eyes once again slid away when their gazes met.

"What's wrong, Doc?" he asked, deciding to stop going around the bush any longer. That at least managed to catch Blake's attention as he frowned.

"What do you mean?" And it was testament to Blake's tiredness that he didn't just budge the question altogether.

"You. And this," Charlie waved his good arm around the room at the mess. His eyes caught sight of a ruler not that far away however and for a millisecond he lost concentration. Then he blinked and shook his head. First things first. "You look as if you haven't slept in ages. And... you never look me in the eyes anymore. Did... did I do something wrong?" Charlie couldn't help it, his voice wavered.

Blake stood beside his desk for a moment, frozen. Then he let out a sigh and shook his head.

"No, of course not, Charlie. You did nothing wrong. I'm fine, I was just looking for something and then decided to reorganize-"

"In the middle of the night?" Charlie looked doubtful. "Doc, I understand if you don't want to talk, but please... don't lie to me."

"That wasn't my intention at all Charlie," Blake said, sitting on the edge of his desk. "Things are just a bit complicated right now."

Charlie raised his eyebrows. "That sounds like the crappy excuse my parents told me when they didn't want to talk about something." Which implied another answer. 'I'm not a child. Don't treat me like one.'

Blake pursed his lips, giving a small nod of acknowledgment.

"You're right. You deserve some explanation. I just didn't want to burden you with unnecessary things right now."

Charlie frowned.

"You can't sleep and you're all jumpy. I don't think that's some unnecessary thing, Doc. And I'm not an invalid."

Both of their gazes went towards the cane and the cast and Charlie rolled his eyes.

"Okay, maybe I am, but that's just temporary."

"Yes, it is," Blake replied with a small grin and Charlie eased against the couch.

"So why can't you sleep, Doc?"

Blake looked a bit hesitant, but then shrugged. He headed for the cabinet and poured both of them a glass of whiskey. Admittedly, Charlie's glass was barely covering the bottom, but he wasn't complaining. He took the offered drink and waited until Blake took a sip of his own. Then he started talking.

"You know I've spent some time in Singapore," Blake said slowly and Charlie nodded. He knew Blake had a rough time there during the war, even been captured as a POW. But he wasn't privy to any details.

"I was deployed there in 1941, few months before the fall of Singapore. It was during December... I think only few days after Christmas when the night raids really started. I was on a perimeter check with three other soldiers when the bombs started dropping. We were heading back to camp when we encountered a small group of Japanese soldiers trying to get close to our camp under the disguise of the noise. I won't bore you with details..."

Charlie thought it was more because Blake didn't really want to think about them than for Charlie's sake, but he didn't say anything. He just let Blake speak, however jumbled some of the memories might've been to an outsider. Blake described the fight, how they managed to take out most of the insurgents. Until their own equipment malfunctioned and the grenade exploded in the poor soldier's hand. Maiming him instantly and causing lethal injuries. How the shrapnel from the grenade found its way to another soldier's throat. How he tried to help and watched the life slowly fading away from his friend's eyes while the air was filled with the sound of falling bombs.

„Jesus," Charlie whispered and felt that his own fears and troubles in these last few days paled in comparison to what Blake went through... what he was going through each time something loud went off nearby. „I'm sorry, Doc."

Blake swallowed the rest of the whiskey in the glass and shook his head.

"Nothing to be sorry about, Charlie. I've... I've learned to push it back, ignore the memories a long time ago. This..." Blake waved his hand. "This just brought it back for a while. I just need a few days to push it back into the box and throw away the key."

"But... are you sure that's the best way to deal with it?" Charlie asked doubtfully. Blake looked him in the eyes and for the first time in so many days didn't break the contact.

"What's my other option, Charlie?" he asked. "Wallow in them like Marty Hanson did? Go crazy with grief and fear and regrets?" Blake shook his head. "That's no way to live."

"No, but... isn't there another way?" Charlie was trying to find something helpful to say. Something that would chase away the ghosts. Blake gave him a little sad smile.

"There's no other way, Charlie. Bad memories... you either keep seeing them or you bury them deep down."

Charlie huffed.

"There has to be something else. What about talking?"

Blake blinked, then let out a bitter laugh.

"Well, if talking helps, then all I need is a few more bottles of whiskey and about a week of time. How comfortable are you on that couch, Charlie?" Blake said with a raised eyebrow and a challenging smirk.

Charlie faced him head on.

"Well, this cast is staying on for a while and I doubt the buzzing is leaving anytime soon. So... if I bring a pillow next time, I'd say plenty comfortable."

Blake stared at him as if in disbelief, then chuckled.

"You're one of a kind, you know that Charlie?" Blake patted him on the shoulder, then went and grabbed something from the floor. "Here. As long as you don't lose it..."

Charlie's mouth opened in surprise as he was handed the ruler.

"What?"

Blake rolled his eyes.

"Please. You had been eyeing that thing ever since you saw it. And I heard Jean complain about one of her knitting needles going missing."

Charlie blushed at that but took the ruler.

"It isn't missing. I just...borrowed it for a moment and then it slipped under the chair..."

Blake raised his hands in a sign of surrender.

"Hey, I've had broken bones. I totally get it."

Charlie sighed, then let out another sound that could've been considered obscene under other circumstances. The ruler was just the perfect length... it reached exactly the spot where the itch was the most maddening.

"Thanks, Doc," he said after a moment and made a feeble attempt at composing himself. It just felt so good for a moment not having to deal with the itch on his arm.

"Now, if you're done... maybe you can tell me what caused you to be up this late at night?" Blake asked innocently and Charlie sighed. He should've known he won't get off so easily.

"It's nothing Doc... I've just slept a lot through the day."

Blake gave him a dubious look.

"I would hardly call a two hour nap a lot of sleep, especially with the concussion."

Charlie shrugged.

"I've told you my story," Blake reminded him almost gently. "Why don't you share yours?"

Charlie blushed.

"There's really nothing to say, Doc. I just..." Charlie paused. Was it really just the discomfort that kept him awake? Or was there more behind it? He felt stupid for thinking about stuff that wasn't even relevant anymore, especially in view of what Blake was going through.

"Charlie?" Blake once again softly called his name, and Charlie looked up. He saw that there was no judgment in the doctor's eyes, only curiosity mixed with concern. And warmth. Charlie finally relented.

"Have you..." Charlie cleared his throat then started again. "Did you ever think about what would you be doing if you couldn't be a doctor anymore?"

Blake looked confused for a second.

"Why would I..." Then it clicked. "Oh."

Charlie had to look away. He didn't want to see pity or worse disgust in Blake's eyes. He didn't want the man to think he was whining over something that wasn't a problem anymore.

"Sorry. That was a stupid question."

"No, it wasn't," Blake countered instantly and Charlie chanced a glance. There was no judgment in the man's eyes. "And yes, I did wonder once or twice. Most recently when I was locked up for a murder I didn't do."

Charlie cringed at that, because really. That wasn't their best moment. But now that Blake didn't seem to be offended at the question, Charlie wanted to know the answer.

"And? What... what would you be doing?"

"Well, it depends. If I'd been acquitted of murder, I'd probably be serving my sentence." Blake said seriously, but then his lips twitched in a smile and Charlie snorted.

"As if."

Blake shrugged.

"Depends on the circumstances. Who knows... I might become a detective..."

Charlie wanted to throw something at him, but he was seriously lacking any pillows. Or the energy to actually grab a book.

"But I have a feeling this isn't about my choice of vocation, is it?" Blake said, turning serious and Charlie felt himself sink just a bit lower on the couch. He shook his head.

"Is that what doesn't let you sleep, Charlie?"

"I couldn't stay a cop if my hearing didn't return," Charlie admitted, feeling a chill run down his spine at voicing his fear. "And I have no idea what else I could be, Doc."

There was a pause, then Charlie sighed.

"I know it isn't important now. My hearing is coming back. It  _will_ come back, all the way," he said, unsure if he was trying to convince Blake or himself. "And I'll get back to work. But... in the last few days I realized I had no backup plan. No idea at all. And what if something does happen in the future? I mean... just look at Lawson. He was so close to being discharged after the accident..." Charlie felt his throat tighten at the memory. Just how horrible must've Lawson felt when he was leaving Ballarat and his police station, unsure if he will ever be able to return?

Blake was there, putting a reassuring hand on Charlie's shoulder.

"I know it is a scary idea, Charlie. But you can't change the future... or the past. And it's quite useless to be worried about possibilities.. Trust me... I've imagined all kinds of outcomes when I was in Singapore and under enemy fire.  _This one..."_ Blake waved his hand, still holding the empty glass. "It wasn't in any of them."

Blake paused.

"If something happens, all you need to know is that we will be there for you. Me, Jean... even Matthew. Your mother and brothers. You're not alone, Charlie."

And while Charlie tried to find the words of thanks, trying to inconspicuously rub at his slightly watering eyes, Blake patted his shoulder and walked back to his desk, putting down the glass.

"And you know... we would support you in whatever crazy job you would choose," Blake turned back towards him and there was a small twitch to his lips. Charlie blinked, unsure if he was imagining it.

"Whatever job?"

The twitch of lips changed into a grin and that was all Charlie needed for the tension to leave. And for having some fun.

They spent the following half hour thinking up the most unbelievable and ridiculous jobs Ballarat could offer, until Charlie ran out of new ideas.

"Maybe a florist?" he said, his eyes blinking more rapidly as he was trying to chase away sleep. Blake chuckled.

"I'm sorry Charlie, but I'm pretty sure you know even less about flowers than I do."

Charlie would've protested, but it was true. He shrugged and tried to hide a yawn behind a hand. Blake looked up just then from finishing off one stack of papers.

"Maybe you should go back to bed, Charlie. It is quite late."

Charlie shook his head.

"I'd rather not," he muttered and slid further down onto the couch. In the last half hour he managed to put himself in a semi horizontal position, without Blake protesting. He felt almost comfortable.

"Why not? That couch won't do you any favours in the morning, I can assure you," Blake said, speaking from personal experience. Charlie didn't care.

"It's too quiet in my room," he said simply. Blake gave him a look, then nodded.

"Okay then. I'll be back in a moment."

Without waiting for Charlie's reply, Blake left the room. When he returned, Charlie was dismayed to see two pillows and a blanket in his arms.

„I hardly want Jean finding you here in the morning like that and accusing me of 'letting the poor boy suffer'," Blake said, finishing in a heartfelt tone in close resemblance to Jean. Charlie couldn't stop the chuckle escaping his lips, even as he grimaced having to move a bit. But once he could put his head down on the soft pillow and rest his casted arm on the other he had to admit it was much better.

"Thanks," he said and Blake nodded.

"If you don't like silence right now, what about a bit of music?"

Charlie frowned.

"I don't want to wake up Jean."

"Believe it or not, there is a volume knob," Blake said with a smile as he walked to the gramophone. He played for a bit with a choice of music, but then found the right LP and put it on.

It was something classical and although Charlie didn't recognize the composer, the gentle violins and piano somehow managed to fit in well with the traces of buzzing in his ears.

Blake settled down back in his chair, while working on making the hoard of documents on his desk look a bit less imposing. Charlie watched him for a bit, lit by the only desk lamp and looking tired, but for once almost at peace.

"Don't you want to get some sleep, Doc?" he asked out of the blue and although he kept his voice down, Blake looked up momentarily startled.

"Here I thought you were already asleep," he commented but Charlie just looked at him, heavy eyed and expectant. Blake sighed.

"Don't worry about me, Charlie."

"That would be easier to do if you didn't look as if you haven't slept a wink for a week, Doc," Charlie argued slightly. Maybe it would've made a better impression if he was actually sitting up and his own eyes weren't crossing, but he didn't care.

"It was hardly more than a few days," Blake retorted with a smirk, then turned serious. "I've been dealing with this for some time now, Charlie. It will pass... it always did. But I appreciate your concern."

Charlie sighed. He didn't know what else to do.

"If you need to talk though... I'm here. All ears," Charlie added with a little grin of his own, expecting one in return. Blake however didn't laugh him off. Instead he looked at him in all seriousness and Charlie wondered if the warmth in the Doc's eyes was real or if it was just a reflection from the lamp.

For a moment there was silence between them, interrupted only by a new song playing softly on the gramophone. Then Blake nodded.

Feeling like everything that needed to be said between them at this moment was said, Charlie closed his eyes. He listened to the music and Blake moving around, the rustle of papers or the occasional creak of Blake's chair. As sleep came to claim him and he was in that strange place right before succumbing to it, where gravity didn't seem to matter, Charlie didn't fret... didn't jerk himself awake as he did so often these last few days. For the first time since the accident, he felt balanced again.

**The End**


End file.
